


The Dry Spell

by Exophile_3D (bearbane)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Choking, Claiming Bites, Comedy, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Demon Boyfriend, Demon Deals, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demons, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Edging, Enthralled, Erotica, Exophilia, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Human/Monster Romance, Light Dom/sub, MONSTER FUCKER, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Monster Lover, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Paralysis, Penis In Vagina Sex, Penis Size, Possession, Romance, Shower Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tail Sex, Tails, Thralldom, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, demon fucker, demon lover, excessive cum, monster x human, multiple dicks, paralysed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearbane/pseuds/Exophile_3D
Summary: **BONUS CHAPTER up 22nd November 2020**You're going through a dry spell, and with no end in sight, you decide to summon a demon to see to your needs.Sexy shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader
Comments: 245
Kudos: 558





	1. Erotic Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The author does not endorse or encourage the summoning of demons. This is a work of fiction and is not intended as an instruction manual, so please do not try this at home. 
> 
> Legal Notice: The author is hereby relieved of any responsibility for readers who ignore this advice and are ravaged nightly by otherworldly demons with massive schlongs (plural). 
> 
> Thank you.

Two months; fifty nine days; too many hours to count. Your college friends would call it a ‘dry spell’ but ‘dry’ is not an adequate adjective for you right now. You’ve always had a healthy libido, but a raging pandemic puts paid to the conventional idea of dating, and you’re not sure it could have come at a worse time. You suspect your body is just being awkward - it knows you can’t do anything about it, so it’s ramping your hormones to fever pitch, and everything you watch, read or create just makes you think about all the lovely sex you’re not having.

You’ve always had a keen interest in the supernatural, and your Pinterest is full of images of bizarre male forms that would make most of your real-life friends vomit. You know you’re not alone in your odd proclivities however, and you find several online communities that clearly share your obsession, many of whom are incredibly prolific. You absorb increasingly explicit stories and imagery, and all they do is make the need even worse. It all comes to a head one night when your drive is at an all-time high, and you decide to summon a demon. 

Now you’re not one to believe in the _actual_ supernatural of course. You’re a former science major with your feet rooted firmly in reality, despite your bent for weird fantasy. You don’t believe for a moment that you’re actually going to bring a flesh-and-blood entity into your world from another, but you’ve read so many accounts of people trying similar things that you understand the psychology behind their experiences. They’re alone in the middle of the night, they create an atmosphere, bring in a sense of ritual, and they’re in a receptive state of mind. In that state, they imagine what they want, and the mind finds a way to give it to them, to make them believe they’re experiencing a ghostly touch on their skin. It sounds like a bit of fun, and you have nothing but time on your hands. If nothing else it’ll make a change to flicking your bean over your demon-schlong Pinterest page.

So you do your research. You read countless reddit posts, delve into blogs on demonology, witchcraft and sex, most of which have you shaking your head at the state of humanity, and you condense it into common themes. One recurring and important element appears to be a letter that you write to the devil himself, asking politely for some nice demon sex while setting out, in no uncertain terms what is acceptable and what is not. It appears to be critical that you define whether or not you and whatever hot demon-boi ol’ Lucifer decides to send your way will be monogamous, long-term, and physical, and if so, what exactly you are willing to do. You’re also supposed to offer something in return, but the posts you read are decidedly non-specific on that, so you resolve to sacrifice a chicken (by making eggs for breakfast) tomorrow. You dig out some writing paper and a fountain pen from the days when you used to send actual _letters_ to people, and giggle to yourself as you lay out your terms in flowery prose, getting a little excited as you outline the raunchy stuff.

While your college days are behind you now, you still approach it like an experiment. There are specific items of equipment, and set methods, and you want to know what will work for you again, so, like the good little science major you were, you document it.

 **Attempt 1** :

 **Goal** :  
To induce a state of hallucination and experience non-directed physical stimuli. 

**Equipment** :  
-Candles, assorted colours  
-Items to represent the elements:  
-Earth: a chunk of amethyst  
-Air: dragon incense burner, burning Dragon’s Blood  
-Fire: a big candle  
-Water: a goblet filled with tap water  
-Chalk for drawing a circle on the floor (note to self, check chalk can be erased first!)  
-A letter stating your needs and setting out your terms

 **Method** :  
-Write the letter.   
-Draw a circle on the floor, large enough for you and one other person to sit in  
-Light a gazillion candles.  
-Place the items to represent the 4 elements in a square, overlaid on the circle.  
-Get naked in the circle and see what happens.

 **Results** :  
With all your items prepped and laid out, you step into the circle, feeling just a little bit silly. Your living room looks different in the candlelight, but you can still make out the familiar objects that make this all seem a little surreal. You close your eyes, kneel down on the floor with the letter in front of you and relax. Guided by the other accounts you’ve read, you start the experience by trying to imagine something else in the circle with you, and by and by, you begin to feel a presence in the room with you; large, potent, exuding heat in regular waves. A little shiver runs through you from toes to scalp, although that could be because you’re sitting naked on your lounge floor at 3am. 

So far so good. Next, you decide you want it to touch your breasts, and just then, a breath of wind stirs the candles, sending the flames almost horizontal for a moment and you suddenly feel alone and exposed. Although it’s sheer nonsense, if - IF - some supernatural accident did befall you, no-one would find you for two whole days, when you didn’t turn up for work on Monday. Just as your mind starts to inadvertently drift into the next week’s work-tasks, your nipples harden and it feels for all the world like there is external pressure on them. But there’s nothing there: no figure in the circle with you, nothing except that nagging feeling of an extra presence in the darkened room. You’ve done this part before at least - imagined a lover’s touch to the point where you can almost feel it - but this is stronger, and you weren’t concentrating on making it happen (unless next month’s sales figures happen to turn you on). The squeezing sensation continues until your mouth falls open to draw in a gasp. The candles flicker again, rhythmically, as though in time with someone laughing, but there’s no sound but the hypnotic tribal chants of Skáld’s ‘Rún’ that you chose for your soundtrack tonight. 

You begin to smile and chew your lower lip. You’re liking the way this is going. It’s a little unsettling, but your rational brain knows the reasons for it all, and you’re excited that you’ve managed to trigger a real physical sensation without actually touching yourself. It was just the experience you were looking for. You revel for a moment in the strong squeeze on your nipples that is sending an answering flood of warmth to your crotch (note to self: next time, bring a towel), and then you try to imagine something new, hoping your change in focus won’t end the wonderful tingling pressure on your breasts. Since that seems to be continuing without any conscious thought from you, you become bolder and imagine a warm hand under your chin, tilting your head back. Warmth floods the area immediately, and your head falls back, _almost_ of its own accord, but you know deep down that your unconscious mind probably had a hand in that. You now imagine a warm hand running up your leg, and your skin starts to tingle from the rough heat that manifests at that spot and moves inexorably up your thigh. Goosebumps erupt, your heartbeat speeds, and the candle flames flicker and then still to point straight up, higher than is strictly feasible. 

The brain is a powerful engine. Its capacity for providing images, sounds and feelings that confound the senses and simulate reality is far greater than you had previously realised. You lose yourself in the thrill of it, and while you know you’re alone in your lounge with music playing, in your mind’s eye, you’re being teased from another realm by an erotic presence that is instantly complying with your every desire. The heat against your inner thigh and under your chin, along with the persistent pressure on your hardened nipples, squeezing now in time with the sonorous Nordic chanting all combine until you groan audibly, glad that there is no-one around to hear you. 

This first experiment has been a resounding success, and you resolve to stop there and document your findings. While you know what is happening is a product of your mind’s libidinous cravings, it seems your subconscious is not ready for the experience to be over, and it tricks you, removing the illusion of control. You try to move, to rise from the circle, to extinguish the candles, to turn off the music but you’re unable to do so. You wonder for a moment if you’ve fallen into that semi-wakened state where people experience sleep paralysis, but the question is academic since you’ve no way of ending it. While the sensations at your throat and breasts remain constant, it is the heat on your thigh that changes. It feels for all the world like a huge hand is sliding up your leg, pushing its way into the crux of your thighs, and, in a movement that temporarily shatters your paralysis, it presses itself against your slick cleft.

The feeling is extraordinarily strong, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve put your own hand there in some weird hallucinatory trance. A glance down confirms that is not the case. There is nothing between your legs. Fingers, hard but deft must surely be pressing against you now, because you can make out the solid lines of each one as it strokes and teases your folds. There is a whisper of danger as one of the fingers scrapes against you with a sharpened tip and you cry out, fear causing a shuddering intake of breath - but there is no end in sight. The sensations you’ve fabricated go on and on, relentlessly, igniting sparks that indicate an explosion is imminent. Your throat now feels like it’s being constricted, and it’s getting hard to breathe, while your nipples are being worked non-stop, rolled and twisted in an unseen grasp, and you wonder, rather absurdly, how many hands this thing you’ve imagined has. You still can’t bring yourself to move, and the sensations in your nether regions are building to fever pitch as the deft but sharp appendage stokes you towards climax. With a strangled cry, you find release alone in the candlelit gloom. The pounding beats of the music you’ve chosen rise and fall in the background as you shudder through your orgasm while unable to actually move, which only intensifies the experience until your eyes bulge from the strain. It is, nonetheless, one of the most powerful sexual experiences you have ever had, and the comedown is slow and gradual, tiny glimmers of sensation radiating out from your lower abdomen with every heartbeat. 

The paralysis abruptly wears off and dissipates along with every other sensation your erotic little experiment caused, and you flop over sideways, sliding across the chalk circle on your elbow, grinning and giggling like the satisfied fool you are. 

The candles gutter and go out, all at once. You must have left a window open somewhere.

 **Conclusion** :  
Not bad for a first attempt. You didn’t even need a toy to finish yourself off as many of the reddit accounts would have had you believe. Your mind is definitely able to provide physical stimuli without recourse to any actual objects, and next time, you plan to add more details in the letter and bring some images to try to induce some visual or audible stimuli. 

**Note to self** : Look up sleep paralysis. And how to get chalk off polished hardwood.


	2. Power Outage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You attempt to recreate last week's experiment during a power outage

It has been a weird week. 

You’re working from home, and while it puts paid to the daily commute, it also means you spend a lot of time staring at the same four walls. Work is manic, and it’s left you with little time to reflect on the events of the weekend, but it keeps springing to mind at odd moments. There are also a number of things that you have seen, heard or felt this week for which you have no explanation: your phone went missing for a whole day, then turned up right in the middle of your bed as though it had been there all along; your TV is stuck on a shopping channel; your milk keeps curdling and one of your apples had a worm in it. On the other hand, the favourite earring you lost three months ago turned up on your nightstand, your sickly desert cactus has started blooming with huge, scarlet flowers, you had the shortest, easiest monthly cycle of your entire life, and you’ve refound your creative spark. Odd little coincidences aside, you have spent quite a lot of this week jumping at your own shadow, and at least once you’ve felt sure someone was moving around in another room in your tiny two-up, two-down abode. You put all of it down to an overactive imagination, the stress of being stuck at home, and the supernatural nonsense you were dabbling with in the early hours of Saturday morning.

Friday night rolls around, and after a Zoom call (with wine) with a couple of friends, you decide you’re going to give that annoying sales spreadsheet one more go. There’s a discrepancy somewhere that’s going to lose you a chunk of commission but so far, you’ve been unable to find it. As you sit engrossed, your hair slides back over your shoulder. You freeze. You’re hunched over your laptop screen in a posture that would have your HR department up in arms, so if anything, your hair should have slipped forward. You shake your head, dismissing it, and reach for your wine. It’s not where you left it. The little cup-holder on your laptop tray is empty and your wine is on the coffee table. Puzzled, you scoot forward to reach for it, and as you do, the power goes out, plunging you into darkness as you knock the wine off the table. Swearing quietly, you pat your way along the wall to the utility cupboard where you keep the torch, and after checking the fuse box and the street outside, you realise it’s a widespread outage and light up some candles.

And there you are, back in your living room, alone in the dark with candles on. The associations with last weekend are strong, and bring a surge of excitement. The scientist in you is convinced that you can recreate the circumstances of your experiment. The pessimist in you is insisting it was a one-time thing, and that trying to force the same experience will end in crushing disappointment. Your wine-fuelled libido sides with the scientist, outvotes the pessimist, and you start gathering your equipment.

**Attempt 2:**

**Goal:**  
To induce a hallucinatory state, refine and improve on the previous attempt. Induce audio or visual hallucinations as well as non-directed physical stimuli.

**Equipment:**  
-As in Attempt 1  
-A letter describing your requirements, with more detail this time.  
-A tablet set up to cycle through select images from your Pinterest bank.  
-Spotify demon-music playlist (on phone this time due to power outage) 

**Methods:**  
-As in attempt 1.  
-This time make less effort to direct the experience.

**Results:**  
You’re a little tipsy as you make up the circle and dig out your tablet, and your layout this time is a little less ‘demon ritual’ and a little more ‘magic emporium has vomited on the floor’. After a little drunken fiddling, you manage to set up a slideshow that cycles through your Pinterest demon-bank, and you throw your towel into the chalk outline (for both comfort and absorbency). You hesitate. This is all a little silly, and you have admittedly been freaked out for an entire week after Saturday’s escapade, but with the power out and your libido up again, you shrug and step towards the circle.

As your feet cross the boundary and sink into the towel, you feel a tingling sensation that is reminiscent of buzzing electrical cables, but the power is out and you’re reasonably sure you’re just in a suggestible mood. Nevertheless, you’re starting to feel a little twitchy about the whole thing and you decide to call it a night and get some sleep instead. You move to step back out and you freeze. You can’t raise your foot. If this is the sleep paralysis effect (which you completely failed to read about), then it’s apparently affecting your waking life too. You’re suddenly overcome with that feeling that something else has been added to the finite number of items in your living space and your ears twitch to the sound of deep, harsh breathing. _Aural hallucinations_. This is new, and unless your Spotify has switched to a ‘heavy breathing’ playlist, you’re a bit stuck for explanations on this one. A flicker of light from the floor catches your eye and your demon slideshow has gone into overdrive, cycling through the images like a zoetrope. You sense a wave of heat from your left hand side, and as it washes over you, goosebumps erupt across your entire body, and the hairs prickle on the back of your neck.

You nearly jump out of your skin as a solid thud resounds against your wooden floor, followed seconds later by another. There is no way this is your neighbours moving furniture, the sound comes from barely two feet away, and although you peer through the gloom, there is nothing there. The thudding continues, its point of origin moving as it circles you then stops at your right side. A hot breath puffs against your cheek and moves your hair, then the hoarse breathing resumes. As the seconds tick past, you start to wonder why the presence hasn’t touched you yet. By this stage in last week’s proceedings, it was going to town on your your nipples and stroking you to a climax. But the atmosphere this time is different, secretive, bordering on malicious. More than anything right now you want to be able to turn the lights on, but judging from the heavy blackness at the window, the entire street is still out.

“Hello?” you ask, your voice faltering, and, despite your fear, still feeling just a little bit silly at greeting the empty room.

Nothing. You muster some courage and ask, “Who are you?”

The bestial breathing deepens into a growl, and the candles gutter down to tiny blue dots before flaming to life again, far taller than they should be.

_“You know better than to ask that.”_

Your blood freezes. If your ears could flatten back against your head, they would. The voice is deep, guttural, and knowing. It knows your desires. It knows your needs. It knows your many perversions. It is also aware that you know you cannot ask it its name. Not outright. It is the height of rudeness, according to that reddit post.

“Fine then. _Where_ are you?” you ask.

The only response this time is a laugh, and your brain serves you the word _schadenfreude_. It seems appropriate. 

Your questioning stalls. You want to ask it if it’s been lurking around your house all week; why you can’t see it; what it’s waiting for, but all your queries seem so trivial when there’s a possibility that all the supernatural tales you’ve absorbed and dismissed as fiction your entire life are actually real. Your scientist brain sends a flood of questions: are vampires real? What about the abominable snowman? Is Nessie alive and well and living in Scotland? If a man’s eyebrows meet in the middle, is he a werewolf? If so, Steve in Accounts is likely howling at the moon right now. The flickering on the ground intensifies, rousing you from your thoughts, and the images coalesce into a form that freezes your lungs, knots your stomach with fear, and simultaneously looses a trickle of arousal between your legs.

“ _Well_?” You almost jump out of your skin. The voice is loud, harsh and right by your ear, and accompanied by a blast of steaming hot breath. Your eyes snap to the right, but there’s nothing there. You still can’t move your limbs or your neck. The only free movement you seem to have retained is in your eyes and your mouth. 

“ _What do you think_?”

The voice is presumably referring to the image that has appeared on your tablet. It is not one you recognise from your Pinterest collection, and the bulky, horned, four-armed form is looking at you from the tiny screen with an expression of pure, aggressive lust. It is a look that says ‘ _I know I’m going to fuck you, you know I’m going to fuck you, and we both know how much you’re going to enjoy it_ ’. It’s quite eloquent, in a way.

“What do you want?” you breathe. You are in no state to answer its question as to what you think of its looks. You’re currently jumping between arousal and fear at the mere sight of this Hell-spawned thing that may even now be stomping around your living room in the dark while you stand paralysed inside a circle you made with kids' play-chalk.

“You _summoned me_ ,” comes the response, a note of irritation giving it a harder edge. “ _You should know._ ”

“Why do _you_ think you’re here?” you clarify.

A low growl. “ _It is_ your _contract I obey_.”

“My contr-” You break off. The entity must mean the pornographic letter you wrote to Old Nick.

“ _An even exchange_ ,” the voice explains, as if to a particularly dense child. “ _Your lust for mine. Mutual satisfaction. An eye for an eye, tit for tat, quid pro quo_ -”

“I get the idea,” you interject. “So it wasn’t just a one-off?”

“ _Did you take no heed of the words you penned to the Dark Lord_?”

You blanch, thinking back to the saucy letter you wrote. You asked for a well-endowed partner to see to your physical needs, with an unlimited sex drive and various extra appendages. To be fair, you had been a _tad_ horny at the time. You recall the other parameters of your request: anytime, day or night for a period of not less than six weeks.

“Six weeks?” you splutter.

Your appalled reaction apparently causes some amusement and he breaks into a deep, bellowing laugh. 

If your facial muscles could move, you would scowl at him. It’s not your fault you don’t know how these things work and you are irritated at his mocking tone. “Why aren’t you doing anything about it, then?” you demand. 

Silence. Even the heavy breathing is gone.

“Speak the truth!” you command. You’ve seen this device used in many demon-related stories and films over the years, but you don’t really expect it to work. 

“ _I cannot do that while you hide in your circle_.”

Before you can ponder the ramifications of that, tablet flickers and the image zooms in on the demonic face staring at you from the small glass screen. He licks his lips lasciviously with a long, mobile tongue, slicking over long canines and the sharp fangs in between and while you watch in fascination, the screen-demon brings his index and middle finger up in front of his mouth, parts them and for several, drawn-out heartbeats, shows you exactly what he is capable of doing with his tongue.

_While you hide in your circle_.

Your heart is hammering in your throat and your thighs feel damp. You can almost sense what that forked, wet, textured muscle would feel like dragging against your lower lips…

_He’s not in the circle._

…sliding in hot, slimy trails against your nipples…

_He’s_ outside _the circle._

…entering your mouth and diving deep, curling around and gripping your tongue…

_He can’t enter._

Heat and smoke are rising from your tablet as the image on the screen conveys increasingly sexual imagery, until with an audible ‘whoomph’, it bursts into flames.

“That was _four hundred and seventy-nine quid_!” you yell, annoyed at the destruction of an often-used tool that you will struggle to replace. The flames burn quickly with an eldritch light, and within seconds, your tablet is no more.

“ _Yet still you doubt my power_ ,” comes the snide reply. 

“You can’t get in here, can you?” you taunt, eyeing the edge of the circle meaningfully.

“ _And_ you _can’t move_ ,” comes the counter-taunt.

“Admit it,” you challenge.

“ _I can_ enter _if you let me_.” You catch the emphasis in his words, and another surge of excitement turns your nipples to rocks and your cleft to a slick.

“What will you do if I let you in?” you ask, more to buy time than anything. You’re pretty unnerved after the spontaneously-combusting tablet incident, and you’re actually minded to try to get rid of him. _Six weeks_? You won’t last six days if the images he's just shown you are anything to go by. You plan to look up exorcisms first thing in the morning. For now, you need to get through tonight.

The footsteps resume and circle you again, stopping next to your right side and steaming hot, wet breath against your ear. “ _Exactly what you want_.”

“What _I_ want?” you query, heart in your throat.

The response is a bassy rumble that sounds vaguely affirmative. 

“Not what _you_ want?” you insist. 

“ _Not tonight_ ,” he informs you. “ _Tonight I feed your lusts, and next time you will feed mine_.”

Your eyes narrow. “How would _you_ know what I want anyway?” The candles gutter, sending tiny sparks off towards the fireplace despite the stillness of the air. They seem to react with his mood. Was that a laugh? Or is he offended?

“ _You want me to step into that circle of binding with you_ ,” he growls, his voice reaching you through the pads of your feet and rising in tingling lines up your calves and thighs. “ _You want me to kiss you until your lips bruise, stuff you full of demon cock and rut with you until you beg me to stop_.”

Your jaw is slack, your knees on the verge of failure, and you decide the one towel is just not going to cut it after all.

“ _Which I won’t, of course. Not until you_ mean _it_.”

“I don’t trust you,” you say. And you don’t, certainly not after the admission he’s just made. “I want time to think over our deal - just until tomorrow,” you suggest.

“ _Know that I am bound by contract. I may not break it, any more than you may_.” He sighs, a low, grating sound that almost extinguishes the candles. “ _But trust must be earned, and I see that I must earn yours. Tomorrow then_ ,” he confirms, and his voice seems to come from both sides of you at once. “ _But you will not avoid fulfilling your end of the deal a second time,"_ he warns. _"In the meantime, you may ask me for a boon, to prove to you my power and … harmless intentions_.”

“What kind?” you ask. You’ve already learned you need to be more explicit when dabbling with the supernatural, and you are not about to be caught out twice.

“ _Anything you wish_.”

Your mind runs through a dozen things you’d like to explore with this creature, but, annoyingly, honestly, there is one thing above all others that you want magically sorted out for you right now.

“Fix my spreadsheet.” 

It will be a reasonable test of his power, and it’s going to bug you unless it’s sorted, not to mention leave you quite a lot worse off next month. You don’t doubt this creature can please you physically - last weekend’s sexcapade leaves you certain of that - but does he have any true influence? He is silent for a moment and you wonder if you’ve insulted him - or requested something far beyond the remit of a humble smut-demon.

“ _Line forty-seven_.”

He leaves you in peace shortly afterwards, with a promise to return at sundown the following day. You clear up the magic shop tat, have a 3am cold shower (the power is still out), and get into bed, tired and wired after the events of the night.   
  
**Conclusion:**

Damnit, he was right. 

You get your commission. 

All _four hundred and seventy nine quid_ of it.


	3. Manifestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, you decide to try to exorcise your demon.

Since the experiment is now definitely over (you literally can’t afford another incident like last night - your landlord is already going to charge you for that scorched patch on the floor), you decide to document your post-work findings in the form of a journal. For posterity.  
—-  
 **Saturday, September 26th, 2020**

Sleep is not your friend tonight. Every time you doze, you see your tablet bursting into flames, you envision the sharp, black fangs that ringed the entity’s mouth, you recall the lewd and suggestive gestures it was making, and a single phrase keeps echoing in your head.

_I cannot do that while you hide in your circle._

You give up trying to sleep some four hours later and make yourself a bucket of coffee. There’s some significance to that sentence but you’re in a moderate state of shock and whatever it is, it’s eluding you. The power is thankfully back on this morning, and while it’s already light at 5am, you turn on all the lights in your little duplex. Better safe than sorry. You cocoon yourself in your red fuzzy blanket and huddle over your laptop, inhaling coffee fumes while you search the internet. It turns out there are far more sites on demon exorcism than there were on demon summoning, and although they range from the ultra-religious - selling snake-oil services to the parents of goth kids - to scholarly articles on the psychological conditions that probably explain both possession and banishing, there’s nothing like the ‘Exorcism Guide for Dummies’ you were hoping for. If you ever get out of this, perhaps you should write one.

Fine, old-fashioned Scooby-Gang style book-scouring it is then. You shuffle to your bookshelves, unwilling to leave the safety of your blanket - or ditch your caffeine lifeline - and browse your modest collection. Your family and friends have always known about your interest in the supernatural, and several well-meaning relatives have bought you tomes on vampires, witches, unexplained phenomena, and yes, even a couple of books on demons. One is a pop-up demon hunter handbook your sister bought as a joke, but the other- 

You flinch as the book in question slides out of position by a clear inch. You rub your eyes with your free hand and glug another half-pint of coffee with the other. You’ve barely slept so it’s no wonder your brain is playing tricks on you. You examine the cover with blurry eyes: A Field Guide to Demons. A quick riffle through the pages shows dozens, maybe hundreds of entries, and each mini-chapter includes a Lore section, and - joy of joys - Dispelling and Disarming Techniques. You clutch it to your chest and silently thank the weird sisters who unwittingly poured such effort into your salvation.

A little while later, you are back at your research station with a fresh bucket of liquid crack and a year’s supply of junk food. You read the first couple of entries in their entirety, but you soon realise it’s going to take too long. You have maybe nine hours before sunset, and at that point, you’ve either succeeded in banishing the entity, or you’re going to get _plowed_. You open a third packet of Space Raiders - the ultra-tangy flavour and E-numbers help keep you awake - and as you turn back to reading about Kelpies, the book flips rather helpfully to another entry. _Incubus_.

Something inside you shrivels in disappointment. _How mundane. Come on, Lucifer, is that the best you can do_? But even as you watch, the writing on the page fades until nothing but crisp, creamy-white paper remains, and new text begins to appear, this one written in flowing, bold cursive in dark red ink. At least, you hope it’s ink. You watch fascinated as the entity’s name and origin are revealed, and you finally find out what you’re dealing with. It gets to the end of the lore section and you slam the book shut, struggling to your feet with the blanket wrapped around your legs. It clicks. Whether it’s the small lake of coffee you’ve drunk, or whether your brain has finally caught up with itself, the invisible-ink style writing that’s just vandalised your demon manual makes that last connection for you. It wasn’t in the circle last night. It’s not in the circle now, or off in its hell-dimension home. It’s _here_. It has been since last weekend when you broke the chalk circle by sliding through it on your elbow. 

Your heart is in your throat and you cast terrified glances around the room, trying to cover all angles at once and nearly giving yourself whiplash in the process. It’s been here all along. It’s watched you work, seen you in the shower, probably even laughed at you sitting around in your underpants eating macaroni cheese straight out of the tin. Has it also watched you in bed at night? Your cheeks flush scarlet. It’s not _your_ fault you’ve been so horny… That laugh sounds again from right in front of you and the air shimmers with heat-haze. You then try to do three things at once: throw the blanket from you, grab your phone and leg it around the far side of the dining-table. You’ve never been good at multi-tasking. The blanket slips off your shoulders but tangles around your legs, sending you in a dramatic prat-fall towards the hardwood floor while your fingers pull the tablecloth - and laptop, coffee mug and seventeen packets of budget crisps - down with you. You’re brought to an abrupt halt with your nose almost touching the floor and it feels for all the world like three immense, hot arms have prevented your fall. You puff out the breath you have been holding, steaming the wooden surface just in front of your face. You squeal as it retreats from you and you’re pulled upright where your back slams into something equally hot and twice as hard.

You glance down. There’s nothing to be seen apart from that weird summer-tarmac shimmer you noted before, but your pyjamas are rucked at your waist, and there is a clear line of heat and pressure against your bare belly. The other two arms - at least you assume they’re arms: you can’t actually see anything, and they could be elephant trunks for all you know - slowly loosen their grip from around your upper arms and hips and you breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s short-lived. Instead of releasing you, it appears the change in grip was simply to allow the demon to lay its hands on you. One large, hot hand quickly moves to palm your breast through the thin material of your Nightmare Before Christmas top, while the other slides down and rakes hard nails up your thigh.

Although you’re now shivering with combined fear and excitement, and your fight or flight instinct is unequivocally telling you to high-tail it out of your door in your jim-jams, plague be damned, the scientist in you is as beset by curiosity as ever, and so you ask, “Why can’t I see you properly?”

Warm breath stirs the hair at your ear. “ _You will. The more you believe the stronger I become, and the more easily I can manifest myself to you_.”   
  
Great. A demonic Tinkerbell. 

“You said ‘sundown’,” you remind him, as your brain finally gives you something you can use. He seems to be something of a stickler for contracts and promises. “You’re not supposed to be here for hours yet.”

“ _You were trying to get rid of me_ ,” comes the amused response. It tsks almost comically. “ _That wouldn’t be clever. You break a contract with the Dark Lord and you pay the price_.” Warm spots appear under your chin and you finally find out where the fourth arm is. Gentle pressure tilts your head back and to the side, where you can see more of that weird oil-on-water haze over your shoulder. “ _I have no desire to see you harmed. It’s better this way. Everyone gets what they want_.”

You throw his words around in the tangled, electrified spaghetti that is currently passing for your brain. You want to protest that this was just a bit of fun, a science experiment gone wrong, and to insist that you should be let off because you didn’t know it was _real_. There is however a very large part of you that hasn’t had true physical intimacy in over two months and is desperate to know what it would be like. _To rut with a demon_. It’s your ultimate fantasy. There is of course the added element of his palm dragging against your nipple, and the clawed fingers that are tracing incessantly up and down your thigh. They haven’t let up, and it is starting to colour your judgment.

“Well, that’s all well and good, but I want to stick to our original arrangement.”

The warm touch at your chin morphs to sharp nails, which trace along your jaw. Not a threat, exactly, just a reminder of what you’re dealing with. “ _You’ve already changed it once_.”

“I’m exhausted,” you reply, and it’s true. Despite the gallon of black lightning in your veins, if your head hit a soft pillow right now, you’d sleep through a space shuttle launch. “Wouldn’t you rather we did this when I can reciprocate?” you ask. There is a grudging hum in response. “Besides, I’m not going anywhere. You’re here with me. I’m just asking for a couple of hours of shut-eye before we -uh…” You trail off. You have no idea how to phrase it. How do you term ‘intercourse’ to a hell-spawned demon? Copulate? Do the wild mamba? Play ‘hide the sausage’?

“ _Fuck_?” he offers helpfully. 

Words desert you. His hand delves quickly between your thighs and the arm around your waist loosens, moving to join its counterpart in toying with the other breast. The hand beneath your chin tilts you a little further and warmth comes rushing in as hot, hard lips are pressed to yours. A paralysis stiffens every muscle in your body, but this one has nothing to do with any supernatural effect, and is broken when he pulls his head back. Maybe you’re not _that_ tired.

“ _This contract is about pure pleasure_ ,” he murmurs, and as your eyes flicker open again, there’s a little more opacity to the colours that churn just behind your head. You can almost make out the outline of a face with pointed ears and long, bovine horns above it. “ _Yours and mine. No more than that_.” The hand slips under the waistband of your trousers and touches you through your underpants. You suddenly wish you’d worn anything other than your pound-shop specials with the broken elastic, but his talented fingers soon banish such thoughts. They run in a smooth, sure motion down over your mound, teasing across your clit and stopping when they reach the piece of fabric that separates them from your entrance. You draw an audible breath and a pair of eyes solidifies in your line of sight, golden yellow with slit pupils. The pressure increases. If it weren’t for that thin strip of cotton, his fingers would be inside you right now. You swallow hard, shaking from combined arousal and surplus caffeine.

“ _If it helps, I cannot harm you. I would be in contravention of your terms_.”

You congratulate yourself. You had actually had the presence of mind to write your own physical safety into your love-letter to Lucy, and you relax a micro-fraction.

“But what about all the things you’ve done this week?” you ask. Your voice sounds slurred and breathy. His fingers roll your nipples gently, sending powerful jolts of pleasure through your core and flooding your crotch with warm delight. He other hand is not idle, alternating between teasingly poking at the barrier that shields you from his finger invasion, and drawing lines around your outer lips. It is odd being touched like this; it’s more sensation than you’re used to at any one time and it’s almost enough to convince you to just shut your mouth and let him continue, but you want to reach a shared understanding first. 

“I assume it was you,” you manage, between gasps at the flames of pleasure he’s kindling. “Curdling the milk, putting worms in my apples, stealing my phone, making me watch the stupid shopping channel - it’s your fault I’ve bought a JML she-pee!”

“ _Mischief_ ,” it whispers. “ _Among my kind, it’s considered flirting, as long as there is balance_.”

“Balance?” you query, and you’re suddenly aware of his thighs under your hands, hot and ridged with powerful muscle. You don’t remember reaching back to touch them, but with his talk of balance, it feels right. _Quid pro quo_. He reminds you then of the favours he has also done you this week and you have to concede the point. You really did love those earrings.

“ _An even exchange of power_.” At that, he sighs and with obvious reluctance, withdraws his four hands from everywhere they are touching you. You stagger, unaware how much you were relying on them for support, and you feel cold and empty, abandoned even.

“ _You have the right of it. I will let you rest and come for you at sundown, as we agreed_.”

You take a few hesitant steps forward then turn. You can _almost_ see him. It reminds you of those magic eye pictures - if you could just get your vision to focus correctly, he’d be there in all his seductive otherworldly glory. Your libido and your exhaustion are currently having quite the argument, but with his promise in hand, you nod to the shimmering outline and make your way upstairs to bed. Your room is silent as you snuggle into the blankets, more empty than it has felt all week, you realise. You must have been aware of his presence on some level the whole time. Despite the caffeine, despite your rampaging hormones, lethargy seeps into your bones as your body warms under the covers, and as your eyes flicker closed, one final, electrifying thought flits through your mind.

You asked for multiple dicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, the Demon field guide I mention in this chapter actually exists and is available in various online places. ‘A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, and Other Subversive Spirits’, by Carol K Mack and Dinah Mack.
> 
> And so does the ‘Demon Hunter’s Handbook’ pop-up book, which my sister did indeed buy me as a joke. 
> 
> Write about what you know, kids. ;)


	4. Demon Dues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwilling to be delayed any longer, the demon claims his dues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments you guys have shared on this so far. It was only supposed to be a bit of silliness and comedy smut. So glad you're enjoying it and I hope this chapter passes muster. :)

Saturday September 26th 2020 (p.m.)

When you wake, it’s completely dark. You stare stupidly at the ceiling for a few moments with that feeling of disorientation that always follows a day-time nap, and for a moment you’re not sure where or when you are. A quick glance around the darkened room at the familiar shapes and angles of your furniture soon remind you that you’re at home, in the middle of a pandemic, and - assuming you’ve not completely lost your marbles - about to get ravished by a demon. Every muscle in your body stiffens and all your happy places start to tingle at the mere thought. When will he come for you? Should you go back downstairs and find him? Or would that make you look too eager? As you ponder the appropriate level of keenness to show to a hell-spawned entity, the blankets begin to bulge as though someone is inflating a giant beach ball at the foot of your bed. 

The bulge moves and grows, sliding up the bed towards you with a sound that suggests something hard and sharp is scraping on the underside of your cotton duvet cover. You’re horror-film savvy. You _know_ if you lift the edge of that quilt you’re going to see some gory nightmare-faced monstrosity for a split second before it bites your head off, and so you slam the edge of the duvet down either side of you, pinning it in place with your white-knuckled fists. If it can’t get out, you can’t see it, ergo it doesn’t exist, ergo it can’t eat your face. Horror-film kid logic perhaps, but considering what’s going on, you think it’s sound.

“ _Are you going to let me out, or shall I just stay under here and_ amuse _myself_?” The voice is stronger than it has been at any other time since it has started speaking aloud, and for added effect, it is now muffled, as though for all the world it is coming from under the blankets. You close your eyes and bite your lip. This is real. You’re rested, the caffeine-trip is over, and it’s still here: you’re going to have to deal with it. The scientist - and the horny woman - in you wants to see the owner of that voice in its full form, and it’s not as though it’s going to be stopped by you holding the duvet down. You have some impression of the size of it from its heat signature as it hovers over you. Four arms press into the mattress at either side of you, its breath is hot on your belly, and its knees dent the bed somewhere down between your feet. It’s literally only staying under to be polite - to give you that illusion of control. If it wants out, your paltry eleven stones of weight aren’t going to be enough to keep it pinned down. You’ve just mustered the courage to lift the blanket when he apparently gets fed up of waiting for a response and lowers his head to your groin.

You jolt as sharp teeth bite into your pyjama bottoms, and there is a mild, teasing growl as they are pulled away from your skin and shaken from side to side like a terrier shaking a squeeze-toy. You giggle despite your fear - there’s no mistaking the play-signal here - then catch your breath as his head tugs back hard and a tearing sound informs you that you’ll be internet shopping for new pyjamas tomorrow. The pressure on the bed changes as he raises two of his arms and uses them to shred the remnants of your black and green striped bottoms and rip them from your legs. Hot breath warms your mound and a wet heat starts at your entrance and works its way all the way up to your clit, wriggling and undulating wherever it touches you through your dampened underpants. Your fists clench in the duvet cover and then you lift it tentatively, consumed by curiosity. All is dark, then two luminous eyes blink into sight, swivelling up to meet your gaze, then narrowing as though with a lewd smile. His tongue continues to press against you, and as you watch those eyes, the mobile, wet muscle worms its way around the elastic at the edge of your panties and slides hard against your lips.

Gasping, tingling, you push the covers back, but they snag on his horns and you find yourself working in tandem with him to disentangle them. He tosses the covers off the side of the bed once he is free. Now that he is out in the open, you can see that there is indeed a solid, black, demon-shaped figure hunched over you on the bed, but in the lightless gloom, you have no idea whether you would actually be able to _see_ him now, and you really, _really_ want to. You want to know whether he looks exactly like the image he manifested on your dear-departed tablet, or whether he’s some malformed nightmare with oozing pustulent sores. You decide it’s only polite to ask before you put the light on: he wouldn’t be the first lover you’ve had in your bed who prefers do to the horizontal bop in the dark. But there’s one serious problem: you just can’t remember how to make words. His tongue has found its way to your opening and is teasingly sliding in, wriggling around, then pulling out and laving you until your entire pussy feels electrified. One sharp claw is holding your panties to one side, and another hand has found its way to a buttock, and is kneading and pulling in time with his roaming tongue.

“Would- would you… m-” It is a supreme effort, and to your credit, you manage half a sentence before your mind forgets how to make sounds again. Go you.

“ _What do you want_?” His voice appears to have dropped half an octave. It reverberates through your groin. In it is the promise that whatever wish you make known - no matter how depraved - will be fulfilled.

“I-”

His claw shreds your panties and he throws them away.

“Want-”

Hot fingers part your folds while his tongue slides up your slit like he’s licking an ice-cream.

“To-”

His tongue enters you, inching its way into your passage while one of his fingers draws slow circles around your clit.

“See-”

His tongue pushes a little further inside and his finger thrums against your most sensitive spot, producing tiny, powerful vibrations that bring a delicious tension to your muscles.

“Y-unh.”

His tongue finds that bundle of nerves inside you, and on the rare occasions you’ve found it yourself, you know it’s a sure-fire ticket to cum-town. It triggers a headrush of ecstasy and you buck against his mouth, riding out the waves, but he keeps you on that crest for so long you think your brain is going to explode. The cry starts somewhere deep in your chest and you vocalise your pleasure for the long, drawn-out seconds that your orgasm has you in its grip, shuddering against his lips and teeth and thrashing your head around on the pillows until at last the sensations peak and ebb. The tension in your hips slackens and you sink back towards the mattress, jolting and gasping with each mini-tremor aftershock.

When your brain is capable of critical thought again, you start to wonder why in the world you’ve been putting him off for so long. Plus, if you’d managed to banish him this morning, this would never have happened. Close call.

“ _As you wish. Tonight is your night. I will deny you nothing_.” It takes you a moment to recall what you had actually asked him for him to respond like this. Oh right. The light. You lean over and grab the switch for the bedside lamp. You turn your head back towards him and whisper over and over in your head ‘please not pustulent sores, please not pustulent sores’, then flip the switch.

It’s a low-energy bulb, so the initial light is dim and will take about five minutes to truly brighten, but it’s enough to get a full sense of what you’re dealing with. The image on your tablet was no lie. He is large and well-built, his body clearly muscled for combat, and you guess if he was standing, his horns would brush your ceiling. His colouring is entirely black and red, except for the vivid yellow of his eyes. His skin fades between shades of deep crimson and true, matte black, and his horns follow the same colouring, shining in bright, ridged curves where they extend from his head. One pair lies curved against his skull like a ram’s and the other extends upwards and outwards like a steer’s. Behind them, his hair - or what passes for it - extends down his back in long, cartilaginous dreadlocks that run in the same red-to-black gradient as the rest of him, banded here and there with metal rings. From the demonophilic research you have done, you were expecting something altogether hairier, but he is furred only at his chest, groin and forearms, with light coverings of hair that contrast with the skin underneath: black on red; red on black.

His face is angular and has only the usual features, two eyes, one nose, one mouth, and you sigh in relief, although there is a hint of something alien around the slanted eyes, and you know that wide-lipped mouth houses rows of needle-sharp black teeth. He is lying on his stomach, sprawled on your thighs, so you can’t see his legs, or what might be hanging between them, so you look back into his eyes and see a compelling mix of intelligence and lust, coupled with an eagerness that matches your own.

“ _Well? You never told me what you thought of me_.” 

He’s right. You avoided the question last night. It strikes you then that perhaps he needs to know; that perhaps this demonic entity has emotions and feelings. After all, he’s put himself up for the Lord of Hell’s demon-human matchmaking scheme, hasn’t he? Isn’t it possible he has the same need for intimacy, for love, for validation as you do? While you’re trying to process that, you’re also trying to figure out what to say about the way he looks. In all honesty, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen anything that turns you on quite so much. It’s like someone did a photo-fit of the most erotic demonic features you’ve ever seen or fantasised about and lumped them into one superbly-formed being - who, incidentally, appears to want to nail you just as badly as you want to get nailed by him. It’s a lot to take in but as you hesitate, you realise he’s starting to turn away from you, looking a little dejected. You reach for him and grab his arm. It’s as solid as it looks, hard and packed with muscle and tendons that roll under your grasp. 

“You’re…”

He studies your face, trying to anticipate what you’re going to say. How do you condense it down? How do you combine ‘utterly drop-dead gorgeous, everything you’ve ever wanted, getting wet just looking at him’ into a single adjective?

“Perfect.”

He must sense your honesty. He smiles and relaxes, crawling up the bed to cage you with his limbs, his yellow ophidian eyes boring straight into your skull. “ _What do you want, y/n_?”

You know the answer to this one. Its so simple it makes you want to raise your hand in the air and shake it around until someone picks you to tell the class. “I want _you_.”

He tilts his head and smiles with all his teeth. His dentist bill must be hellish. He lies down on top of you, his weight partly pressing you into the mattress, and partly supported by his knees and elbows. One pair of hands cups your shoulders while the other toys with your hair and sends sharp talons questing around your face. You’re aware of his heat and hardness pressing against your legs somewhere down below, damp at the end and pulsing a little where it’s trapped between your bodies. He angles his hips, drawing more attention to his cock.

“ _You mean you want_ this?” he asks, moving his hips in a slow circle. His length is pressing against your thighs, prising them apart with each rotation. You move your legs to accommodate him and his body falls between them. His thumbs stroke across your cheekbones, then one wanders down to press against your lips, parting them and slipping inside. You suck on his thumb as he shifts his position above you and brings his hips up. When he lowers them again, a hard tip is pressing against you, teasing and sliding against your own ready heat. As he adjusts his angle, something else bounces against your mound, long and equally hard, and spilling warm liquid onto your belly. You freeze. His thumb pushes deeper and his grin widens until it would put the Cheshire Cat’s to shame.

“ _This was what you wanted, wasn’t it_?” he teases, rubbing his two appendages against you. Your eyes bulge. You hadn’t really thought about the consequences of your request. You’ve read and watched your share of bizarre demon-porn and you know there’s an expected way for those two monsters to be used. You’re not quite sure you’re ready for that. You _have_ only just met after all.

“Uhhh … nish-miffle-wok-wok,” you mumble around his thumb.

He laughs. A genuine, deep, amused laugh and he pulls his thumb back out. “ _Fine. We’ll save that for later_.” 

You huff a relieved sigh, then glance back up at him, hoping he doesn’t mean meat is _completely_ off the menu tonight. “We could try _one_ …” you suggest coyly, drawing little circles on his the corded muscles of his crimson chest.

He chuckles and lowers his head to the side of your neck, breathing hot against your ear as he pushes his hips forward and slides the tip of his lower dick inside you by a bare inch.

“ _Like this_?” 

Your word-bank fails you again. You manage a nod and grab his shoulders, exploring the hot, smooth skin, squeezing and tugging at him to encourage him forward. He rumbles against your ear. It’s a taunting sound, so much so that you almost expect him to break into a sing-song ‘ner ner ner ner nuh’ when he speaks.

“ _You made me wait_ ,” he reminds you.

You feel like someone just cancelled Christmas. 

“No!” you argue, pulling his shoulders to get him to raise his head so you can look him in the eye. “I just didn’t-” you break off as he slips another inch into you. It’s thicker than the first, ridged and bumpy and it robs you of the few words you managed to re-learn. He brings his free arms down and traces his claws across your breasts - still covered in your Nightmare before Christmas top - before taking a nipple in each hand and squeezing gently. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet; not even that one time you had the start of a threesome before you all chickened out. You tilt your pelvis up, trying to engulf a little more of his length, but he draws his hips back and grins with all his shiny black fangs on display.

“ _Greedy_.”

“I thought you said tonight was all about me,” you manage to say. If he’s going to be a stickler for words and bonds, he can bloody well stick to them himself.

“ _Oh it is. Am I not pleasing you? Have I not already done so_?”

You try to nod and shake your head at the same time and achieve some sort of circular headbang. 

“ _But quid pro quo is the basis of our deal_ ,” he says, bringing his nose down against yours. His forked tongue flicks out and licks your lips. “ _What you do to me, I do to you_.”

Your mind has entered a single track: what can you do to make him change his mind and bone you? You crane your neck and engage his lips, pressing wantonly against them and using your tongue to tease and entice him. He grunts and answers the kiss lustily, lowering his upper body against yours and sinking deeper into your depths. If anything, this is the widest part of his cock and your lips are fully stretched. You feel a couple of small judders as one-way ridges slip into you and lock in place. Your skin erupts into goosebumps as you wonder what on earth that’s going to feel like in reverse when he eventually pulls out. You find out far too soon. He withdraws fully seconds later and moves back down your body where your sex is in easy reach of his lips and tongue. You soon come to know the true meaning of torment as he drives you back to bliss six times more, but stubbornly refuses to do the one thing you crave above all else.

Some time later, you reach a point where you protest that you just can’t take any more climaxes right now, and he moves up to lie next to you on the pillows, propping his head up on his arm and drawing lazy shapes across your slick skin with his black-glass claws.

“ _Your energy is low_ ,” he says. 

No shit, Sherlock. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. With a vibrator.

“ _Rest now. Tomorrow you feed_ my _desires_.”

There is a big part of you that wants to argue that he hasn’t fed yours - not all of them anyway - but that tiny voice of sanity that occasionally makes itself known is telling you to keep your fool mouth shut. You just survived a sexual encounter with a demon, and he’s right - you’re probably going to need all your energy for tomorrow. He begins to slide from the bed and you reach out and touch him before he can do so.

“Where are you going?”

“ _Elsewhere. To let you sleep_ ,” he replies.

You hold his gaze, your hand still on his arm, and an unspoken conversation that ends in agreement flits between you. With his eyes never leaving yours, he grabs the duvet from the floor and slips back into the bed beside you.

It’s going to be a long night.


	5. Paint it Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his turn today. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to any subscribers who got a second notification. No new chapter today, but there is a link now to vote for/ suggest his name! 
> 
> https://exophile3d.tumblr.com/demonname
> 
> I wanted to get this up much earlier but work's gone bananas. Still, hope you guys enjoy...

**Sunday September 27th 2020, am.**

You wake to the sound of the local youth football team playing in the field that borders the end of your garden. It’s a handy alarm call for the weekends since they always start up about 10am, which is about the time last night’s wine usually wears off. It’s a sound so normal, so _Sunday_ that you start to categorise of all the weird things that have happened since Friday night under ‘stress related nonsense’. During difficult times such as school exams, your college finals and job interviews, you have tended to fall prey to night-time hallucinations, but what your stressed brain has fabricated over the last couple of days really takes the cake. You decide to take a few days’ leave once the current sales drive is over.

You wriggle and stretch, to find your movements constrained by a pair of arms - scratch that - two pairs: one is wrapped around your upper torso and the other around your waist. OK. Maybe it’s not _just_ stress. For a few sweet, stolen moments, you relax in the warm embrace: his heat is all around you and his long legs are kinked against the backs of yours while his breath tickles your ear. You could get used to waking up like this - although it doesn’t give you much incentive to get out of bed. You think back to last night’s antics and recall your new demon acquaintance finally ran out of steam at around 3am, although you’re pretty sure he said that just to make you feel better about flaking out yourself. 

You crane your head over your shoulder and shake one of his many arms gently. He looks so peaceful you hate to wake him but you have needs which are many and varied, and foremost among them is a strong desire to empty your bladder. You shuffle around in his arms until you’re facing him, and take in his features in the dim light, glad of the chance to get a good look without him watching you. His brows are steeply arched, his cheekbones sharp and his cheeks a little hollow. His nose is a small nub with large, angled nostrils, and his teeth are mostly hidden behind his dark lips, save for a single, errant pointy canine that has slipped out and adds a rather cute aspect to his maw of deadly fangs. Suffused with excitement and adoration, you press a kiss to his broad lips. His eyes shoot open, alert and ready, and his arms crush you until you squeak. He recognises you a second later and relaxes his death-grip slightly. In the faint morning light filtering through the curtains, he looks even more alien than he did last night, although his black and red skin tones blend quite nicely with your burgundy bedspread. You feel a lot more comfortable in his company than you did even late last night. There’s no malice in him as far as you can tell, and given his strict adherence to the parameters of your letter - and the little safety notes you were sensible enough to work into it - you’re pretty sure you’re just going to be stuck with five straight weeks of hot demon sex. 

Things could be worse.

“Morning-” you break off. Your brain draws a complete blank; you have absolutely no idea what to call him. “Uh…” Given what you shared last night, it’s beyond embarrassing. You know his name was scrawled in blood-red ink in that book of demons, but right now, it’s escaping you. To be fair, a lot has happened since then, but but of all the things to forget! This is morning-after etiquette 101. You’ve even gone so far as to scrawl blokes’ names on your hand before falling asleep to avoid just this scenario. You shoot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”   
  
He shakes his head. “ _Such knowledge is not meant for human minds. I could tell you, but you would forget instantly_.”

“Then write it down,” you insist.

“ _It would vanish from the paper_.”

You huff in exasperation. “On a Word document then.”

He shakes his head definitively.

“Tell me again.”

Something rolls off his forked tongue and bites at the air at your ears. It’s an odd, dissonant collection of syllables but you’re sure you can remember it if he’ll just say it again. So you ask him to repeat it.

“ _You’ve asked me six times already_ ,” he chuckles.

Your face goes slack, but in truth it’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened since this nameless chunk of sex-on-legs tangoed into your life, so you take it in your stride and decide on another approach. 

“So what do I call you then?” He shrugs. You scowl. “Pick something or I’ll call you ‘Fred’.”

His smile grows dangerous and sharp and his black glassy teeth glint in the amber light. “ _Is that an insult_?”

You shrug. “Depends how old you are.”

“ _Ancient. By your standards_.” 

“Well, O Ancient One,” you taunt, clambering over him and heading for the door, “Perhaps you should choose another name for yourself while I have a shower and make some breakfast, otherwise I’m going to name you after a cartoon caveman.”

You have a grand total of thirty seconds to yourself in the shower before the curtain slides back and seven foot of horned demon clambers into the bathtub behind you. You haul the curtain back across the gap before the spray soaks the floor, and turn to scold him over your shoulder. Words fail you. Here in the confined space, in full daylight, his otherworldly strangeness is on full display, as are various other parts of his anatomy that you hadn’t yet seen in the light. While you stand staring with your mouth ajar at what he’s got hanging between his legs and trying to figure out the how and the why and the _howwwww_ of it all, he reaches over your shoulder and grabs the soap. Your mind is trying to form a question that won’t make you sound like a vestal virgin when two large, soapy hands find their way to your breasts. 

Not for the first - or probably last - time, those extra upper limbs come in handy and stop you from falling over and bashing your head on the bath. They wrap around your waist and pull you back against his elongated torso, and the double helping of trouble he has in store for you later. His tail wraps around your ankle - how had you not noticed that he had a damned _tail_ last night? - and his talented fingers glide across your soap-slick skin, bringing your nipples alive with sensation and igniting the pilot light on your inner burner. Leaning you against his chest, other appendages soon find their way to your groin, and while the fingers of four hands drive your senses wild, his lips and tongue leave hot, wet patches on your neck.

“You couldn’t wait _two minutes_?” you breathe as his teeth graze your jugular and his fingers tighten an iota on the hard buds of your nipples.

“ _I went without last night_.”

Your face falls. He did. He _totally_ did. You cringe in guilt, award yourself a Selfish Badge and commit to making it up to him today. _Quid pro quo_. You meet his gaze over your shoulder and your arousal doubles. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Plus he looks like he could eat you alive right now and his hot demon dicks are pulsing where they press against your lower back and buttocks. Maybe you’ll make it up to him _twice_ over.

“Well it seems I might owe you one then,” you grin. “Or two.”

“ _Thirteen_.”

“Thirt-?” Fuck. He was keeping count. That’s fine. You’ll just need to get busy, and you do a quick calculation of hours in the day versus time it takes to do X and Y, minus tea breaks… it should _just about_ work. But there is one small thing weighing on your mind: as a connoisseur of many a horror film, you’re not overly fond of the idea of birthing some demon spawn in a deathly bloodbath, so you look from his face to his dual manhood and open your mouth to ask the rather delicate question.

He shakes his head. You take him at his word. Or lack thereof. No demon-spawn bloodbath for you.

He turns you then so that you are facing the tiled wall while the spray from the shower hits you from your left, cascading down your body while he continues to slide soapy hands over your breasts, waist and hips. His fingers sink into you to the third knuckle and he grinds against your buttocks with his evil twins. There is so much sensation now that your mind can hardly cope, and you focus as best you can on the slick white tiles to keep you grounded. His lower appendage glides against your lips and pushes its way between his spreading fingers while the other slides around against your butt cheeks. You drop your forehead to the cool tiles and draw a long, gasping breath; you’ve ever been stretched this wide before. He withdraws his digits when his cock is half way inside you, then leans his hand against the wall and slowly drives his shaft in to the hilt. You’ve forgotten how to breathe. You’re full, so full of knobbly, textured, pulsing demon-cock that you’re pretty sure you’d feel it in your throat if you coughed. 

For a while, you undulate together under the heat of the water, his upper arms braced against the wall either side of yours, while the other pair hold your hips steady as he nudges his against you. The heat from the water increases and you wonder if it’s some weird demon power, or whether his tail has just hijacked the shower knob. You lean your cheek against the cold tiles, sliding a little with each thrust of his hips and grazing the tips of your nipples against the wall. After a little while, he turns you around to face him and sheaths himself in you again, pumping slowly while his arms cage you and the temperature increases even more. It’s not his tail though - you’ve located that. It’s wrapped around your ankle and he’s using it to haul your right leg up to his waist while he drills even deeper into you. 

He withdraws again after a while and pauses with the tip butting against you. You gasp at the loss, the cold, the emptiness and he brings his face in close, showing you black teeth so shiny you can see your face in them. _Damn_ , you look needy. He catches your eye and draws your gaze downwards. Fully erect and wet with a combination of the water and your own juices, his twin dicks glint with a metallic sheen, iridescent with little rainbows. The lower one, ridged and bumpy and veined, widens and bulges half way down before tapering back to the base again; it’s sensational. You already know that from deep, intimate experience. You get sidetracked then watching the muscles in his stomach contract and then stretch as he drops the more familiar appendage between your legs and presses the wet tip of the other against you. This one is slimmer and more uniform in texture and shape, but longer than the first and still unlike anything you’ve seen between a man’s legs. He is looking you right in the eye as he guides this one home. It’s water-slick and penetrates easily, but it goes far deeper than the other and you find yourself rising up on tiptoes and grabbing his shoulders for support as he bottoms out.

For a while, you lose all sense of space and time, and there is nothing in all the world but this nameless demon’s hot, hard body and his twin pumping cocks. He rests two hands on on the wall while the other two firmly grasp your hips and his tail holds your thigh aloft for deeper penetration. He increases the pace, alternating between pounding your womanhood with the thick, textured bumpiness of his lower cock, and the longer, smoother rod of the other. A cracking noise from either side of your head jolts you back to reality: he’s apparently crunched into the tiles with his claws to release the tension churning in him. Panicked, you push against his hips, but he seizes your hands and pins them against the broken tiles. The heat of the water continues to rise until it’s a tad closer to scalding than is strictly comfortable. It seems to be invigorating him - not that this tiger needed any more vigor - and he throws his head back as his hips piston faster, a snarl curling his dark lips before he catches your gaze and growls, “ _I’m going to paint your insides black_.”

 _Black_?!

You have just enough time to digest what he’s said before he grabs your ass in two free hands, tilts his hips and speeds from a run to a sprint. His face is close to yours, hot breath washing against your lips, yellow eyes narrowed to slits. He’s continuing to alternate between the long one and the fat one every time you get comfortable with his rhythm and it’s driving you insane with need. A wicked grin splits his lower face, and all his shiny teeth are on display with an expression that tells you he knows exactly how good this feels, and that you’re a naughty, naughty girl for enjoying it. He switches back to the lower appendage just as you’re about to climax. You’re aware of every tiny variation in the surface of his cock as he pounds you with it: each ridge, each bump, and that intense bulge in the middle. The feeling of that thick, veined, textured monster ramming home and rasping against your g-spot sets off fireworks in your brain. You yell out loud and your head cracks back against the tiles as your climax crashes over you, his body hunched against yours as he finds his own releases. 

Yes. Plural.

You realise what’s just happened a split second after he comes, his cocks pulsing in unison. While one empties against your stomach, chest and chin, the other spurts in hot, powerful jets inside you. Wherever the fluid touches your skin, there’s a tingling, tightening sensation, and you’re consumed by curiosity as your head grinds against the tiles. You manage to tilt your head down, although it wobbles like a marionette’s, and you see he wasn’t lying. The water is making short work of it, but his cum - and there is quite a lot of it - is splattered across you from chest to belly in a slowly washing stain of shining black.

You’re not quite able to concentrate on the weirdness of that though, because that tingling, tightening sensation is happening wherever his remarkable black demon-spunk has come into contact with you - and it would seem a large amount of it is indeed painted over your insides. The waves of your initial climax haven’t faded yet, and whatever he’s unloaded inside you is only adding to the tension that’s keeping every muscle in your body as tight as a nut and your body wracked with pleasure. You look at him, word-bank failure imminent and ask, “wha…”

Great. A vocabulary of thirty thousand and you can’t even manage the most basic question in the English language.

It appears that unspoken communication you found last night is fully functional again this morning though. For a moment, his eyes are half-lidded and he looks more peaceful than you’ve yet seen him, then at your half-spoken question, that knowing, pussy-melting grin is back on his face in earnest.

He pushes you back against the wall, cold tiles sending chills across your back. His lower cock is still buried in you to the root, and the other, still hard, is pressed tight between you both, drawing a line against your belly and squishing your clit.

“ _Feel good_?” 

You intend to give him some sort of sexy response, but end up puffing out your cheeks, blowing a raspberry and giggling, your brain officially sex-melted.

He growls and slams you harder against the wall, stealing your smile and replacing it with glazed lust. All you can see from this distance are his eyes and his teeth. His hands still pin yours to the broken tiles and you’re pretty sure at least one of them is bleeding. 

“ _Come for me_.”

You were already spiking, but his ardent demand takes you higher and your body tries to crunch in half at the waist. It’s prevented from doing so by the hot, wet demon form pressed against you and all you can do is shudder as though you just stuck a fork in an electrical outlet. A hot mouth covers yours while a long, almost prehensile tongue delves inside, pulsing and writhing in a manner that reminds you of all the things it did to your ladyparts last night. Your willing body (it’s being _such_ a trooper this morning) tries to add yet another level of intensity to the big O, overloads your brain and you cry out in agonising pleasure as everything stutters to black. 

You wake to find yourself under the spray of the shower with his demon cock still hilted in you, but he has a couple of his arms around you for support and his wicked grin has faded an nano-millimeter. He still looks ready to hump you if you glance at him the wrong (or should that be right?) way though, so you try not to give him ideas. You need to process all that’s just happened - the multiple dicks, the black spunk, the broken tiles, the triple-layered orgasm and the blackout, so you might need a thirty second breather before you’re ready to go again.

“Did I just-”

His grin widens, although he looks a little ashamed. “ _I’m disappointed it’s taken this long_.”

He is gently rubbing your hand, but it stings where he touches it. You glance down to see watery blood running over your knuckles from a shallow cut in your skin. He washes it under the shower jet and then slowly runs his tongue across it. Spray bounces from his shining horns, runs across his face and shoulder and cascades across every hard plane on his muscular red-and-black form. His tongue is red too, you notice: redder where your blood stains it. He licks his lips and raises his head then he jolts, eyes wide and falls straight out of the bathtub, taking your blue plastic curtain with the cartoon fish on it with him.

He barely fits on your tiny bathroom floor and you hurry to turn off the shower and climb out over him. You help him up, get him dried off and assist him back to your bed. You’re soon worried about him: his serpentine eyes are glazed and he hasn’t said anything about sex for at least five minutes. After a little while, his eyes focus, he starts playing with your nipples and you decide he’s probably fine after all.

“What was that about?” you ask gently, running a hand over his forehead and tracing it up over a horn, following the ridges with a finger wrinkled from excessive shower-time.

He looks genuinely confused. “ _I don’t know. Perhaps I should not have tasted your essence_.”

“My essence? You had plenty of that last night - oh! You don’t mean my - uh...”

He slicks his tongue across his teeth and his eyes wander to the crux of your thighs. Damnit woman, stop giving him ideas!

“You mean my _blood_?” you ask pointedly, trying to take his one-track mind off sex just for a moment so you can work out whether there’s actually something wrong. He nods. You scoff. “What’s a little blood between friends?”

“ _Is that what we are_?” he asks, pulling you on top of him and letting his hands roam to places that friends certainly don’t touch. 

“Uh… lovers maybe?” You can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks and reddening the tips of your ears. He smiles his enthusiastic agreement and pulls you down for one of his deep, satisfying kisses. Christmas is back on!

“ _Now. Where were we? I believe you still owe me twelve_.” It looks like he’s still going to hold you rigidly to this tit for tat thing. “ _Although we can probably fit more in over a whole day._ ”  
  
“You get a whole _day_? What about ‘even exchanges’? I only got a night!” you complain.  
  
“ _You could have had a whole day yesterday if you hadn't spent one half asleep and the other half trying to banish me_ ,” he reminds you.

Damn. You’ve missed out there. Still, you suspect you’re going to enjoy today regardless of whose turn it is. Although it does raise a further question. “What happens after these two days? Do we alternate?”   
  
He raises your injured hand and kisses it. “ _Whatever we want_.”   
  
A horrific thought hits you like a runaway train. Christmas is off again. “We wasted a whole week!” You’re now trying to figure out how you can cram the sexcapades of the days you missed back into the remaining five weeks.   
  
“ _You weren't ready to see me. Besides, my release from the circle was unplanned. I spent that time exploring, researching, flirting_.” His eyes glint as he runs a tongue against your neck. “ _It was worthwhile. I_ know _you now_.”

You cringe. He’s probably been looking over your shoulder at all the questionable content you’ve consumed in the last week. He must think you’re a right pervert. You sneak a glance at his face to find a sly smile spreading from one side of his mouth to the other. You really don’t need words to communicate with this one, and, given the frequency with which you forget how to speak around him, that’s probably a useful shared talent.

“ _I’ve seen much worse_ ,” he laughs. “ _You’re … what’s the word you humans use_? Vanilla.”

 _Vanilla_?! Your face colours and you’re not sure how to feel about that. Is he disappointed? Was he hoping for someone more sexually liberated? From your point of view, two dicks in the shower, a smashed wall and some blood-drinking ticks at least one box on your ‘adventurous sex’ checklist. 

“Well, whatever we do tomorrow, we’ll have to fit it around work.” It strikes you then that you have no idea what occupies his time when he’s not ravishing young women on the mortal plane. He could be the devilish equivalent of a double-glazing salesman for all you know. “What do you … _do_?”

“ _You want me to show you what I can_ do?” he asks. There’s suggestive, and then there’s the way he’s just phrased this question. You sigh and shake your head despairingly at him.  
  
“You know. Your … job? What you do for a living?”

“ _My purpose in the demon pantheon_?” he queries.

That sounds about right. You nod. 

He toys with your injured hand, skimming his fingers across the broken skin with a feathery touch. “ _It's better you don't know everything_ ,” he begins, but at your disappointed look, he explains. A lot of it goes over your head, but you do at least manage to make out that he is on a six-week sabbatical from his mysterious demon duties.

“Wish I was,” you grumble.

A flicker of mischievous amusement shadows his eyes and lips, which should probably worry you more than it does, and then he is all business again. 

“ _Then we had better make best use of the time we have_ ,” he suggests. You could not agree more, and many, many hours later, with an aching jaw and a new, much deeper understanding of demon anatomy, you find you still can’t fault his reasoning. At long last you hear his breathing slow and the occasional snore escape his lips, but sleep eludes you yet again as your mind works over your latest conundrum. There’s going to be a seven-foot hunk of horny demon flesh roaming buck-nekkid around your house tomorrow, just itching for the chance to bone you. How on earth are you going to _concentrate_ in your sales meeting?

And the six million dollar question: _will he let you_?

  
**Monday 28th September 2020, 02:15 am.**

You’re going to have to come up with something better than ‘Fred’.

  
**Monday 28th September 2020, 03:27 am.**

Your inner radio is stuck on an endless repeat of ‘Paint it Black’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to run a poll over on Tumblr to name this guy. Pop on over if you want to get involved :)  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/exophile3d
> 
> Poll link now up: https://exophile3d.tumblr.com/demonname
> 
> I've also been trying to draw him, but MY GOD, 4-armed anatomy is FRYING MY NOODLE.


	6. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're back at work with a horny demon roaming naked around your house. And someone's in BIG trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I must be serious about this fic now. I’ve just given it its own Scrivener file rather than lumping it in with all the others in my Misc file…
> 
> Thanks so much for all the likes and comments and stuff. :) Hope you’re still enjoying. Oh, and Donut, thanks for the inspiration. ;)

**Monday 28/09/2020**

Monday morning rolls around far too soon, and by 10am you’re in the sales team meeting at with a fresh mug of triple-strength coffee and sensible clothes - on the top half at least. No-one ever sees your bottom half over videocalls, so you’ll quite happily wear a suit jacket and jogging bottoms when you need to be both the sharp-dressing professional _and_ sloppy and comfy.

You hum to yourself as you wait for the others to join, swivelling in your chair with your mug cupped in your hands, relaxed and fulfilled from the weekend’s many exciting activities. You are a little surprised at how quickly you’ve become comfortable with a rampantly-horny sex-demon hanging around your home, but he’s been nothing but fun and indulgent so far and you’re continuing to judge him on his actions, and not on any of the religious dogma spouted by sexually-repressed priests through the centuries. Your jaw still aches, as do most of your muscles from the kinky acrobatics you’ve been executing over the last day and a bit, but surprisingly enough, everything else feels hunky-dory. You were a little worried that being pounded raw by a pair of demon schlongs might have left you walking funny today, but so far so good.

In the tiny selfie-video thumbnail in the bottom corner of your screen, the door behind you opens, and a large, naked, red-and-black hunk of walking hornball enters the frame, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. You slam the camera and mic buttons on your laptop so hard the keys pop, and you whip the privacy cover over the lens for good measure. You’re going to have to set some boundaries. You turn to warn him off wandering naked into your office but his sleepy, friendly morning face - which is offset by his decidedly not-sleepy morning wood - turns your word-factory off again. Damnit. You’re going to have to make flash cards at this rate. He folds his arms, crosses his long legs and leans against the doorframe, his amicable smile bleeding to something far more suggestive as he looks you up and down.

“I’m working-” you would normally add his name here, but in its absence - you’re flat out refusing to call him ‘Fred’, despite your threat yesterday - your sentence feels unfinished. You could just call him a pet name, like ‘sexy’ or ‘babe’ but they feel all _kinds_ of wrong in your head. He’s not some barman you picked up after a hen-party: he’s a bona-fide, fresh out of a hellscape, summoned-in-a-ritual demon. It would be like calling the Queen ‘sugar-tits’.

“Y/n, are you there?”

Damn. You were hoping you’d just be able to sit here with the camera and mic off, but noooooo, they want _participation_.

You press your mic button and reply, “Yes, sorry, just a technical issue - two secs.”

“ _They can’t see me_ ,” he advises. You quirk an eyebrow at him. “ _Just as you could not until I spent time … convincing you_.”

While you decide whether that’s true, a dark-haired man appears on the screen, talking in an authoritative tone about his smashing of this month’s sales targets. _Franco_. Every muscle in your body turns to rock while your self-confidence shrivels and goes to hide under a metaphorical duvet. He made a pass at you at last year’s Christmas party; a pass you unilaterally rejected, but it took some convincing to get him to back off. Now every time you see him, you’re thrown back into that black, panicky moment where he somehow made you feel guilty and rude for turning him down. Cold claws descend and run in sharp, tingling lines across your scalp then slide down to rest against the back of your neck, stroking gently. Your nameless hell-spawned companion is leaning against the wall next to your desk with his eyes fixed on the chattering image on your tiny screen.

“ _You fear that one_ ,” he observes.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you mutter.

“ _Why_?”

“It just…” You squirm. You’ve never told anyone about it, not even your closest friends. There’s an annoyingly insecure part of you that is sure they’ll lay the blame at your feet, and that same fear is making you clam up now. You realise you’re tarring your new hellion acquaintance with a brush reserved exclusively for humans, and since you’re trying so many new things recently, you decide to tell him, quietly and calmly, exactly what happened. He is silent and passes no comment, but his gaze is focused on the screen with such intensity you half expect it to burst into flames.

“Don’t you go incinerating any more of my tech!” you warn, waggling your finger at him and breaking the tension.

“ _Want me to kill him_?”

You have absolutely no idea whether he’s joking. You know he has a sense of humour - about sex at least. You found that out last night when he made you laugh so much at the voices he was using to make his penises talk to each other that you nearly peed yourself. But you’ve no idea whether his humour extends to other aspects of your relationship, and you don’t really want to run the risk of saying ‘yes’ as a joke and signing someone’s death warrant. Not even Franco’s.

“What about the terms of my letter? Not causing any harm?” you query. If there’s one thing you’re certain of in all this madness, it’s his adherence to the contract to which you inadvertently bound him.   
  
“ _That was for you, not him. Or anyone else._ ” 

They say your true reaction comes first, then the nurtured one - the one you _think_ you should have - comes later. Well that makes you a bit of a bitch then, because you felt elated, loved and aroused first, then horrified second. Oops.

With the sales meeting over and your commission secured, you take a break and grab a cup of tea, mainly to get your resident naked hunk of demon-flesh away from the screen before he glares Franco to death from two hundred miles away. You clamber onto his lap on the couch while waiting for the kettle to boil and spend a few minutes exploring his mouth with yours, fascinated and attracted by his jet-dagger teeth. His proximity and enthusiasm quickly banish the image of Franco and last Christmas’s cold, unpleasant memories from your thoughts. He soon has you squealing in delight as he demonstrates his strength, throwing you around the couch like a doll and mock-savaging you with a variety of amusing growls. You stroke your hand along the bulging muscles in his many upper arms, and savour the desire burning in his slit-pupilled eyes. He must have his choice of partners both back home and here on the mortal plane, and he has already indicated he is much, much older than you. For the first time, you wonder how you compare: are you the latest of a thousand lovers?

“How often do you do this?” you ask, stroking your fingers over the double curve of his pectorals. His upper body is muscled differently from a human’s, presumably to accommodate the extra arms, but you quite like having so many chest muscles to play with. 

“ _How often do you seek a partner_?” he counters.

You puzzle over that for a moment then shrug. “When the opportunity is there and I’m interested in a relationship, I suppose.”

“ _It is the same for me_.”

You stroke a hand along his cheek, and trace a finger over his dark lips, which he nips playfully. “When this is over,” you begin, then break off. You hadn’t really planned to say anything, but this thought appears determined to make itself heard. “The six weeks I mean… can I do it again? The summoning?” With local lockdowns sprouting all over the place, there’s going to be little to no opportunity to look for a human companion, and you’re really not sure you want one anyway. Not now.

You can feel his smile shrivel under your fingers. He glances down and away from you. “ _You’re … already thinking about my replacement_?”

“What? No! I-” you swallow, not sure you’re ready to admit what you’re thinking and feeling, or let him know you’ve got the hots for him, but you totally have. What the hell. What have you got to lose? 

“I was wondering if I could… ask you to come back?”

His expression is flitting between amused, excited and that smutty knowing look that you’re coming to love. It gives you tingles in all the right -and wrong- ways. But this is not the time. You wriggle out from under him: you have another meeting in ten minutes which you’re not going to make if you let him get started on the plans you can sense forming in his mind. He has a bit of a tell. 

Two, in fact.

“You uh… hungry?” you ask, scurrying towards the kitchen before he can pull a mind-scramble on you with his evil kissing powers.

He doesn’t need to eat or drink in the same way you do, but he can do so if he chooses, and has indicated he enjoys certain earthly comestibles. While your tea is brewing, he corners you against the worktops, one pair of arms either side of you on the counter, the other pair catching the small of your back and your right cheek. There’s no mistaking the look on his face. He _is_ hungry.

“ _I could eat_.” His smile could melt permafrost - and indeed there must have been a glacier in your underpants, because the runoff has already started.  
  
He starts with your mouth, tasting you from a variety of angles, then moves down to your neck, licking, nipping and sucking until you grab onto him for support. He has a tendency to make your legs stop working, which is much less of a problem when you’re lying down. He comes back up to grin at you with his little nub of a nose pressed against yours, and certain other extrusions bobbing readily against you. 

“I’m working, remember,” you taunt him.

“ _And_ you _should remember our deal. You made a commitment. Anytime, day or night, for a period of not less than six weeks_.”

You nod. “I know. It’s just a shame we lost that week.” 

“Anytime,” he rumbles. “ _That cuts both ways_.”

You finally catch onto the point he’s just emphasised and let out a worried grunt. “But not while I’m working, surely?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but instead flicks his head to the right as though listening and his salacious grin fades. The lump in his throat bobs and he drops his gaze, breathing out through his nose. “ _I have to go_.”

“Go?” you ask. “Where?” 

“ _I am summoned_ ,” he says. As explanations go, it’s a bit sketchy. Before you can ask him to elaborate, he releases you, stands up straight and inclines his head in a deferential gesture that seems completely out of character for this horny, smutty, sex-crazed creature that has been bringing so much joy - and so many orgasms - to your life of late. 

It feels awfully final.

“When will you-”

He shakes his head. The glacier has refrozen and made its way into your stomach. His face says it all. Whatever the hell this summons from his home dimension is, he can’t ignore it, he’s leaving right now, and he’s not sure he will be back. Great. Yet another example of your shared unspoken communication ability. You really wish the damn thing didn’t work so well.

There are few things you’ve been sure of in your life - except that Greedo didn’t shoot first - but you’re sure of this: you are absolutely not ready for this to be over. You reach for him, the words to half-formed thoughts and feelings shaping your lips, and then he is gone. There’s no ‘poof’, no segue, no glimmer as he passes from this place to his own, just a silent, empty kitchen and a lonesome ticking clock. You wonder what on earth has just happened. Did you do something wrong? Was it because you refused to bone during work hours? There is no answer for you, and so you’re left to wrestle with that one on your own. 

As the days flit past you realise you miss his company just as much as you miss the bedroom - and bathroom - antics. You may have been from different worlds, but the fun, the silliness and the raw passion you shared in those couple of days together meant far more to you than you realised. You drift through the week, you attend your concalls, you eat, you drink, you sleep. If they ever make your biopic (working title ‘ _I Banged a Demon_ ’), it will most likely be straight to TV, but if you have any say in the matter, there will be a montage. While moving orchestral music plays, you’ll repeatedly check your milk to see if it’s curdled, bite into apple after apple looking for worms and moon nostalgically over your plastic she-pee. You would do anything to have those pranks played on you again, to have a sign that your favourite demonic shower-hog is still out there somewhere; still interested; still coming back.

With your thoughts consumed by him, but no way to refer to him, you spend a few evenings trying to name him. You scour baby-name sites, read myths and legends, and use demon name generators, but nothing seems to fit. He’s devilishly attractive, seductive and strong, so you’ve been using those qualities to try to find something that fits. You eventually find a word for strapping, strong, and firm in the language of your home country, and it feels … right. It’s just a shame he’s not around for you to share it with him.

**Friday 2nd October, PM**

And so another Friday night rolls around to find you sitting on the couch, drinking wine by candlelight, this time wondering if you can get Old Nick on the line and demand he send back your demon lover. If he’s so fond of his contracts, why isn’t the emissary he chose being allowed to see it through? In the course of your increasingly desperate and drunken research, you’ve found an extremely dodgy website with instructions on how to contact the devil. You don’t have even half the items it lists, but you’ve decided in your wine-fuelled wisdom that you can improvise a little around the liquid you’re supposed to smear on your breasts, and the substances you’re supposed to burn and inhale. You stumble a little as you head for the kitchen to grab the ingredients, which seem more suited to making a pizza than summoning the source of all evil. As you walk back into the lounge with tomato sauce in one hand and a tub of dried oregano in the other, the space next to the fire lights up purple and with an almighty bang, the air splits open and deposits a huge red-and-black form on the ground in a tangle of bleeding limbs.

You drop your demon summoning / pizza topping ingredients and dash over to help him up, noticing despite your tipsy state that he’s landed right in the middle of the chalk circle, which you failed to wipe off the floor after Friday night. You help him to his feet and onto the couch, appalled at his injuries and the cold, clammy feel of his skin. One of his former distinguishing features was the amount of raw heat he exuded, and, concerned, you wrap him in your red fuzzy blanket while plying him with hot water bottles. For a long time he just hugs you, clinging to you like you’re the log stopping him from speeding over the waterfall’s lip into oblivion. Formerly a joyful, energetic force, he now he seems utterly drained and subdued. When he has calmed and seems to accept that he is in fact here with you, and safe in your embrace, you encourage him to speak, and find out he’s been punished for his little contractual transgression on Sunday morning. 

Your knowledge of demon contract law is about as good as … well … your knowledge of human contract law. “What transgression?”

He grunts and examines a lacerated forearm, which, to your relief is healing before your very eyes, although not painlessly, if his expression is anything to go by. 

“ _I was not supposed to taste your essence. It was outwith the bounds of the contract_.”

All this because he licked some blood off your knuckle? “But … I … it was no big deal. I didn’t explicitly say you couldn’t…”

“ _Nor that I could_ ,” he argues. He didn’t know about his error until after he had made it: it transpires he’s never tasted someone’s blood without their consent before. You puff your hair out of your eyes. They really are sticklers for the minute detail of that smutty little letter you wrote, and you wonder randomly if all lawyers are actually demons in disguise.

“ _There was also some talk of my being punished for getting out of the circle - but that’s technically your fault, so I’m in the clear on that_.”

There’s no air in your lungs. _Your fault._ The room is spinning. “Does that mean I’m in trouble too?” Your mind flies to visions of red-hot pokers and pineapple-topped pizzas and you shudder.

“ _No, no,_ ” he laughs reassuringly. “ _You’ve been punished enough for your mistake by being stuck with me day and night for the duration_.”

You side-eye him. _That’s_ not a punishment. You decide it’s probably better not to say that out loud though. Who knows if those demon lawyers are listening?  
  
With his torn skin healing fast, but his mood still low, you decide the first order of business is try to cheer him up. The problem is you have no idea what makes him happy - apart from sex - and you think he might need a little time to recover before he exerts himself again. He once told you that he had a fondness for donuts however, and so while he was away, you ordered a metric fuckton, just in case he came back and was peckish. You pile them on a tray and you’re relieved to see him lick his lips and smile as you hand them over. A little experimentation with some video content reveals that he’s a sucker for really, _really_ bad horror films. By the time morning rolls around, he has devoured three Sharknados, amongst other questionable titles, although at one point you did think he might _actually_ die laughing at them. You’ve also just bought Troma’s entire back catalogue to keep him amused while you’re at work next week. He’s still in physical pain, you can see it in his eyes and the odd twitch of his sugar-frosted lips, so with no knowledge of demon medicine, you do what you can: you keep him warm, heat some wine with that mulling kit that you’ve had for five years, feed him donuts, and snuggle up with him on the couch to watch some gory trash.

**Saturday, 3rd October 2020, 5am**

The end credits for Night of the Demons are scrolling on screen and you _think_ he enjoyed it - although it was a bit of a busman’s holiday and he spent most of it pointing out the inaccuracies. He’s made no effort to move and you’re comfortable enough here on the couch to not be missing your bed. Besides, at the moment you just want to be wherever he is, partly due to an irrational fear he’ll just vanish again, and partly to make sure he’s alright. His injuries are healing, and his mood has definitely lifted, but you’re still worried about him. 

“I thought of a name for you,” you say at last with a shy grin. You really hope he approves.

“ _Is it ‘Orgasmatron_ ’?” he asks through a mouthful of donut. You facepalm. You shouldn’t have let him watch ‘Barbarella’.

“I thought I might call you Kadarn,” you say, fiddling with the edge of your red blanket.

He tilts his head with an interested smile baring some of his obsidian fangs. “ _It means something to you_ ,” he guesses.

It means ‘strong’,” you inform him, stroking your fingers along his hand and pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. “And you are.”

He pulls you closer to snuggle up against him as the opening sequence for the Toxic Avenger comes up on the screen, and you feel his hands begin to roam under the blanket. 

He’s feeling better. 

Either that or he has a real thing for Troma.


	7. Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite demon is recovering slowly from his ordeal, and hell-bent on mischief.

**Saturday 3rd October, 11:45am**

‘Are you still watching Netflix?’

Your bleary eyes open onto the familiar message and a quick check shows that you have in fact been asleep on the couch covered in Dorito crumbs. Fabulous. You are now the poster-girl for the media-streaming generation. Life could be worse though, you think, as you turn your head to see the hot bundle of demon wrapped in the blanket next to you. 

‘ _Kadarn_ ’, you whisper and roll the name around in your mind as you admire the strong, graceful lines of his body. You nod to yourself. It fits. He’s asleep again, and while it’s getting on for midday, you can see his wounds are still healing and his skin is still a little pale, so you decide not to try to wake him. He paid a high price for something that seems pretty trivial to you, and it leads you to wonder what might have happened if you had succeeded in reneging on your deal. The former science major in you is having quite the crisis of faith and questioning everything right now. How many stories about people running afoul of broken deals with the Fallen One might actually now turn out to be true? How easy it is for people to land themselves in fatal trouble while messing around with things they don’t really understand or believe in? Had you managed to find blood and peyote instead of tomato sauce and oregano last night, would the Lord of Darkness himself have manifested in your lounge? And could you still end up getting stung by the small print in that damned contract? You decide to dig it out later and see exactly what you condemned yourself to when drunk and horny.

You slide out from under the blanket and tuck it back in around your sleeping demon friend with an affectionate smile. He’s huge and powerful, and a little scary looking - probably deadly if you get on the wrong side of him - but in repose, he’s calm, handsome and maybe even a little noble-looking. You nod to yourself: ‘noble’ seems about right. He’s been trying to warn you about the very thing you’re currently worried about ever since you started communicating. How many times has he exhorted you not to breach the terms of your contract? It would seem he actually did you huge a favour by putting the kibosh on your exorcism, and you dread to think what might have happened had you succeeded in banishing him. You’d have missed out on about two dozen orgasms for a start - and that’s before you even start to consider the pitchforks and the lakes of fire.

You pick up the tomato sauce and oregano from where you dropped them last night, and glance up to find a pair of luminous eyes watching you.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper. He eyes the condiments in your hands and twitches a brow, patently asking what you’re up to.

“Uh… I was trying to call your boss…” you say as you hold the ketchup up to your ear like a phone.

He throws the blanket aside and moves to sit up, alarm written all over his exotic features, but he judders to a halt and grimaces. 

“Stay still,” you chide. You’re pretty sure he’ll comply if only because of the pain, but he’s looking _spooked_.

“ _You did_ what?”

You grin disarmingly and hold up the bottle of Heinz and the bumper tub of dried herbs. “Not sure I was going to get very far though.”

He splutters, shaking his head. “ _Why would you even attempt such a thing_?”

You shrug and rub at the floor with your big toe, smudging the outline of the broken chalk circle that changed your life. “To find out what happened to you.”

He puffs out a breath, and you can see he understands but is nonetheless concerned. He shakes his head and reaches out a pair of arms to you, using the other pair to support himself on the couch. You can’t refuse an invitation like that and you clamber gingerly onto his lap, taking care not to injure him further, but he scoffs at your cautious approach and hauls your chest against his.

“ _Had you succeeded_ …” he raises a hand and uses his claws to draw around the outline of your face. “ _The sight of my ‘boss’ would have blinded you and stolen your mind_.”

You raise your arms, showing off your pizza-making-cum-devil-summoning kit and grin. “I was going to try to phone Satan on a bottle of ketchup. I'm not sure there's much worth stealing!” 

He shakes his horned head and exhales through his nose. “ _Promise me you won’t try that again_.”

Your grin turns smug. “You were _worried_ about me.”

He gives an exasperated sigh and looks away.

“Weren’t you?” You follow his head with yours, foiling his attempts to avoid your question until he resigns himself and faces you. 

“ _Fine. Yes, annoying human. I meant what I said. I have no desire to see you harmed._ ”

“You’re a sweetheart.”

His eyes darken and he bares his black-mirror teeth. There’s a rumbling that you hope isn’t coming from his chest because it sounds like a pneumatic drill hitting steel plating. He catches your hair in one of his hands and squeezes you with a few of his arms until you gasp for air. “ _Make no mistake about what I am, or why I am here. I_ will _see to it that the deal you made is honoured, and I am no ‘sweetheart’_.”

You suck in a jagged breath and pull against his death-lock on your hair to bring yourself closer to his face. He eases his grip slightly and you press your lips to his, engaging his snake-like tongue with yours and grinding gently against him. A few seconds later he is fully answering the kiss, and stroking his fingers against your scalp as he holds you firmly against him. You break the clinch, pressing a finger to his parted lips and clambering off his lap, a swagger in your step as you head for the kettle.

“Sweetheart,” you assert. If the look on his face is anything to go by, you’re going to pay for that remark later.

Oh dear, what a pity, never mind.

**Saturday 3rd October 7pm**

Your minor tussle with him appears to have tired him out. Whatever punishment was inflicted on him, it sapped his energy and he sleeps for much of the rest of the day. He rallies at one point and spends some time with his face buried in your cleavage before falling asleep again, but you’re OK with that. You’re just glad to have him back in once piece, and besides, you’re pretty sure he can tie knots with that tongue.

_Sunday 4th October._

Kadarn continues to doze intermittently, and you spend much of his waking hours sharing such gems as ‘Chopper Chicks in Zombie Town’, and ‘Dinocroc Vs Supergator’. Towards the end of the evening, he talks you into watching material of a less comedic, and more explicit nature, suggesting you share with him some of your favourites, for research and inspiration for when he’s feeling better. He asks you which parts particularly excite you, and spends more time watching you react than watching the content itself. If you were more paranoid, you’d worry about what he was plotting, but he largely keeps his hands - and other assorted appendages - to himself. Although you’re drenched with need - if he put his hand between your legs right now, he might well lose it - you know you need to give him the time he needs to get his strength back, and you have no doubt it will be worth it in the end. You’re hoping that will be soon, and the signs are encouraging: he’s walking and moving with much less pain tonight, and he’s down to one donut an hour. Eventually, you call it a night: you have work the next day and he willingly accompanies you upstairs to your bed.

**Monday 5th October 2020**

You have a 9am sales demo with a client, and you’re mid-way through your presentation when your door opens and Kadarn saunters in sporting a pair of erections and a sexy smile. He’s feeling better. Damnit! You're going to have to put a lock on that door. Your idea turns out to be rather less helpful than you intended however, as you start to wonder how long a deadbolt would actually stop him, given his size and strength. Your mind conjures a little fantasy where he smashes through the door just to get into your pants and you feel your cheeks flush and your crotch tingle at the thought. His hungry gaze flicks from the screen to your face and his expression goes from a smoulder to a blaze. For fuck's sake are you that easy to read?!  
  
Your camera is off while you run through your Powerpoint. It’s a good thing too, otherwise your viewers would have been treated to a free one—woman show as he swivels you to face him, kneels between your legs and takes a hold of the waistband of your leggings. You glare daggers at him while you explain a payment plan and engage in a short game of tug-of war that comes to an abrupt halt as he digs his claws in, threatening to shred your new bottoms. He ignores your death-stare and yanks them off, nearly tipping you from your chair in the process. You are mid-way through your usual spiel, but fortunately you have it down pat, so you can reel it off without having to think too much, which is lucky because he's not playing around here. This isn’t a tease or a distraction to wind you up - you pretty quickly figure out he's intent on full-blown tongue-sex right here, right now, sales call be damned. Your hands grab the arms of the chair and you deliver at least half of your next line on an in-breath. He runs his tongue, hot and wet and dripping against your outer lips, making huge circles that encompass the whole area, and ending each circuit with a fast-paced wriggle. Your hand hovers over the mic button as each movement threatens to steal control of your voice, transforming you from Popeye to Olive Oyl at a flick of his tongue.   
  
"And if you buy before the end of the mon-" he drives his tongue in deep while spreading his lips around your pussy and sucking hard. You jam the mic off a nano-second before you cry out in semi-orgasmic pleasure and your other hand slams down on the arm of the chair in a death-grip. He takes advantage of your loss of composure and pins it and its counterpart to the chair.

The client asks to see another scenario. You’re prepared for this: it’s two slides on, and all you need to do is press the down arrow twice. And there’s the problem: both your hands are pinned to your office chair by two hundred and fifty pounds of well-muscled demon, and although you shoot him a threatening look, Kadarn is having none of it. You try to silently project your anger at him where he watches you insolently from the V of your thighs, and you tug at your arms to try to free them. He responds by talking to you with his lips pressed against your snatch and his tongue buried in your passage. The sound sends vibrations through your core, while his wiggling tongue and mobile lips send your senses spiking. You can’t make out the words, but the tone is unmistakable. _‘No fucking way_.’

With your hands stuck to the chair-arms and your lower body impaled on a demonic tongue, you improvise and stretch your torso until your head is over the down arrow, and with supreme effort, you headbutt it twice with your nose. With an infuriated growl at your success, Kadarn grabs your legs and hoists them over his shoulders, tilting you further back in your seat. He's not holding back now and his fingers sink straight into you, seeking and locating your cum-trigger and setting your entire frame shaking with ecstatic tension.   
  
Your customers have been asking questions, and since you’ve been on mute, they’re assuming technical difficulties. It's one of the blessings of this whole remote working phenomenon, but you never thought it would be saving you from a situation quite like this. Still, it’s bought you a few minutes. Two of his hands continue to pin yours to the chair while another hand works in tandem with his tongue and lips to bring you to within a whisker of your peak and hold you there. You're moaning and whimpering safely now with the microphone off, although you wish you could drown out the discussion. No sooner have you thought it than a movement catches your eye. His other hand (damn you and your request for multiple limbs!) is reaching for the sound controls. It hovers over the ‘mute sound’ button and you nod: it'll speed things along if you can't hear a client talking about the abysmal weather in Yorkshire. You buck against his mouth, a cry building in your chest as the tension reaches unbearable levels and the pleasure explodes out from every part of your womanhood in a wave that knocks your head back against the chair. You cry out just as his finger stabs downwards, diverting at the last second and hitting the ‘mic on' button. Fuck! They might not be able to hear a visitor from a hell-dimension they don’t believe in, but they’ll certainly hear a human on the other end of the call cumming all over her demon lover’s tongue.

You use every shred of self-control you have to hold in the scream. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood and scrunch your eyes shut, jolting and shuddering against his mouth, tongue and fingers as you ride out the ecstasy that rips through your abdomen. You manage to keep the sounds in, _just_ , but you’re going to have to have a serious talk with him after this. Your spasms subsiding, the demon in question wipes his chin, rises and looks down at you from his seven-odd feet while you lie sprawled and panting on your office chair, shaking with residual pleasure. You thumb off the mic again, but you can’t berate him yet - he’s scrambled your vocal faculties with his tongue, and you’re failing to call up those pesky words yet again. There is a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips as he absorbs that knowledge, then he turns, stalks across the landing and pads off downstairs, presumably in search of donuts. When your breathing has stabilised, you re-enable the mic and sound and continue your conversation, gladder than ever that no-one can see you from the waist down. You finish the call, sale confirmed and take a moment to compose yourself and get dressed before going to have words with your trouble-making house-guest.   
  
**Tuesday 6th October 2020**

The following morning you’re at a 10am internal meeting, and it appears the stern words you exchanged with Kadarn yesterday fell on deaf ears, because ten minutes into your call, there’s a naked demon masturbating next to your desk. They can't see him, of course, but you can, in minute detail since he’s standing less than a foot away from you in your tiny spare room. You have no idea what’s being discussed, because what your red—hot demon lover is doing is absolutely mesmerising, and you’re fascinated to see him touching himself the way he likes. You take mental notes. He has a hand on each of his turgid lengths, and is moving the outer skin in slow, sure strokes, in alternating up and down motions, while leaning against the wall and watching you intently. They’re so close to your face you occasionally catch the subtle, musky scent that reminds you of the day you spent with your face in his crotch and his cocks taking turns reaming your throat. There’s a wet, sucking sound as he moves his hands toward the ends, and tiny beads of precum are glistening at each tip. Your lips part as you watch him, your mind serving you blistering memories of what each of them feel like when you take them inside you.

It’s almost involuntary. One minute you’re trying to pay attention to the long-term plans your department has for expansion, the next you’re running your tongue along the end of his smoother, longer cock and savouring his salty precum. Kadarn hums a low, throaty note of approval, his yellow eyes narrowed to slits. His other hands tangle in your hair and he pulls you towards his twin agents of trouble, bobbing before your eyes in his slowly pumping fists. You love when he encourages you like this: it shows how much he wants it; how much he wants _you_. Plus his cum has a rather interesting effect on you when you swallow it. You sigh. It’s a tough choice: boring team meeting, or rampantly horny sex-demon itching to go balls-deep in you. Maybe you should flip a coin.   
  
You have lost track of what’s going on in your call, which only becomes a problem when the round table reaches you and it's your turn to speak - but by this point, your mouth is full of demon cock and you're groaning and choking around it as Kadarn stubbornly refuses to withdraw. You watch as his finger reaches for the mic button and you throw a hand out to intercept it, but he seizes both your wrists in one of his fists and shakes his head. You meet his gaze, panicked, aroused, desperate, but there’s no mercy in his face. 

" _Mischief_ ," he growls with a pantie-combusting grin. “ _And if you will insist on eating into the time we’ve agreed to share, then I will eat into your time_.” You catch his emphasis on the word ‘eat’. He’s being extra corny today. No more horror-film cheese for him - he’s picking up bad habits. “ _Quid pro quo_.”

It may be revenge, but at the moment, you’re too alarmed and aroused to care too much about it. He hasn’t hit the button that will broadcast your groans and whimpers to the world at large yet, but the threat is there. 

“Y/n? Y/n you’re on mute.” 

You roll your eyes. It must be the most-uttered phrase of the year, but the irony of it is that you _are_ mute at the moment. You’ve taken most of Kadarn’s excessive length into your mouth and throat, and the few sounds you are capable of making really aren’t safe for work. His clawed hand tightens in your hair and he moves his hips in languid circles, sinking a little deeper with each rotation. 

“Looks like we’ve lost y/n. Moving on…”

You wither in relief. You’re off the hook - for the team meeting at least. But Kadarn isn’t going to let you off so easily, and he steps a little closer to you, holding your head in two clawed hands as his thrusts pick up speed. You move your tongue against the end on each out-stroke, loving the way the pressure of his swollen dick presses it down as he pumps it back in. You can feel the tension, the raw need turning every muscle in his body to rock and he thrusts forward hard, fucking your mouth until he throws his head back and roars his pleasure, sluicing your throat with his black cum. 

It takes you about an hour to come down from the experience and you walk around your house like a hormonal teenager, getting aroused by everything you see, think or touch, and experiencing little mini-peaks that just fuel your need for full-blown sex. Kadarn is being a bit of a bastard and keeping to himself while you deal with it, but somewhere under the sex-fog that’s clouding your conscious mind, you realise it’s probably for the best. When your thought have cleared, and you’ve restored some sanity with a good, strong cup of tea, you admit that you’re getting a little worried that his behaviour might escalate if not dealt with soon. You had two very close calls in public this week, and you feel like your boundaries need to be reset - but the truth is you’ve tried to explain those to him already and he is being stubbornly resistant. 

**Weds 6th October 2020, 7am**

You’re still fretting over it as the alarm goes off, and you groan inwardly as you wonder what he’ll do today. Will he bend you over your desk while you work on your targets perhaps? Or maybe he’ll switch your work laptop to porn during one of your workshops. You throw back the covers to deal with the noisy clock, but he’s out of bed before you. 

“It’s the big button on the left-” you advise, seconds before he smashes the clock to smithereens with a closed fist. 

“Kad!” you yell. It wasn’t costly, but he does seem intent on destroying half your tech. He opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him. “And don’t quote that bloody contract at me again - I can’t just call in sick for four weeks - I’ll get fired! You have to help me out here!”

He drops the smashed hunk of metal and plastic and meets your eyes from under a lowered brow, his mouth curled in a look of pure sin. You squeal as he takes a flying leap from the far end of the bed, pinning you giggling beneath him, despite your annoyance. As he tongues your mouth and caresses your soaking slit with hot, sharp fingers, you wonder which is taking priority - his own sexual drives, or his desire to keep you from falling foul of your deal. His fingers slip inside you, filling, stretching and readying you for his immense, ridged girth, and you decide you don’t much care what’s driving him, as long as he’s using his hot pair of demonic shlongs to bang the tits off you.

**Weds 6th October 2020, 11:30pm**

The day went sharply downhill after your morning session, fun as it was. He very nearly had you flashing your breasts on camera as he attempted to strip you during a live stream, and you said some things you’re not proud of. You spent the rest of the day apart - not an easy task in your tiny two-up, two-down, and the strain is still showing. You lie for a long time waiting for sleep to come, but it won’t. You realise after a while that you can’t hear Kadarn’s slow, rhythmic breathing. It’s surprising how quickly you’ve become accustomed to it: you already know how he sounds when he’s asleep, and right now, you’re sure he’s not. As though he can hear your wakeful thoughts, he slides two arms under you and two over, and pulls you against his chest. You lie stroking his forearms for a while, grateful for this tiny measure of reconciliation, then wriggle around to face him. You don’t know how this wordless communication you have works — you just know it does. He strokes his clawed hand across your cheek and tucks errant strands of hair behind your ear. Without speaking a word, you press your foreheads together, and you’re suddenly sure of the truth. He’s been hard on you the last couple of days, wound up tight, regimenting your compliance with almost military efficiency, but you know why. He just spent five days being physically - and maybe emotionally or mentally - punished for the tiniest deviation from your agreement, and now he is focused on ensuring you don’t suffer the same fate. Your hands caress him, flitting over the ridges of his horns, the sharp angles of his brow and cheekbones, and drifting across his dark lips. Your mouth chases your fingers to his lips, where you stay, joined through the long, dark hours of the night, without a resolution to your problems perhaps, but at least with a new understanding. 

——

  
If you guys have been as invested in this as I have, and have been happily inserting yourselves into the reader’s role, then this is what you’ve been wrangling…

  
I‘ve been trying to draw him for a few weeks now. After going through several iterations, I settled on this one. I’ve no idea if he matches how you guys saw him in your heads, but would be interested to know!

Also working on a NSFW pinup pic of him, but it’s proving tough! And I’m also planning some gift-art, assuming I can get it to work.


	8. Sabbat-ical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some welcome interference and a confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh… the next two chapters are mostly just smut. *shrugs*

**8th October 2020**

  
Your phone wakes you the following morning, buzzing repeatedly with incoming messages. After mentally cursing whatever clown thought it was acceptable to wake you before your alarm, you blink at the screen to find it’s 09:30. Your morning brain finally catches up and reminds you that your faithful alarm clock succumbed to demon abuse yesterday morning, and now you’re late for work. You turn to scowl at the miscreant in question, but your anger melts away and is quickly replaced with a warm fuzzy feeling at the mere sight of him. He is just far too gorgeous for you to stay mad at him, and thanks to your shared midnight revelation, you’re finding it very difficult to lay much blame at his claw-toed feet. You check the multitude of text and voice-messages and your stomach sinks. Your boss wants an urgent meeting. Fucknuggets. Which of your clients has complained about the porn soundtrack playing in the background of your call? You haul yourself out of bed and steel yourself for a disciplinary.

Fifteen minutes later, presentable and resigned, you shuffle down the corridor to your spare room, open up the concall and find yourself face to face with your manager. 

“Morning, y/n! How are you today?” she asks brightly.

OK, that’s not how you were expecting this to start. Maybe she’s just working up to the bollocking of a lifetime. “Fine, thanks…” you respond cautiously.

“Great! Well, I just wanted to call to give you the good news.”

“What good news?” Is this uber-sarcasm?

“We’re giving you the rest of October off,” she beams. 

This is all a little surreal. If this is her way of handling constructive dismissal, she might need to work on her delivery. “Am I fired?” you ask. “Is this garden leave?”

Your manager looks at you as though you’ve just asked if she blows goats. “Of course not! You’re way over target. You broke the sales record this month, and simultaneously met your quota for the year. You must have been working all the hours God sends to achieve that! Consider it a well-deserved sabbatical.” 

You’re still asleep. That’s the only explanation. The only other way that’s possible is if all the leads you pitched to the last few days bought all your products. But as she goes on to explain, it turns out that’s exactly what’s happened. 

“It’s just to show our appreciation. And there’ll be a bonus in this month’s paycheck, and a promotion when you come back.” 

“A promotion?” You echo blankly.

“Senior sales exec.” 

You smell fish. Or demons. Or fishy demons. “Isn’t that Franco’s role?”

A pause. Something flashes across her face that makes you think she’s just stepped in something unpleasant. “Mr Marsden is no longer with us.”

It all smacks of demonic intervention, and you’re going to have words with your house-guest when this call is finished. But you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you thank your boss then catch up with a couple of colleagues, putting a few provisions in place for your absence. You then jump into a few chat rooms to check the buzz, and the virtual water cooler talk is rife with speculation on the reasons for Franco’s dismissal. Top of the list is questionable content on his hard drive. Oh, and he’s got some obscure disease: the gossip mill has set the odds at two-to-one on syphilis.

You sit back, mind spinning with all the news, and turn to find you have an intruder. This time, he’s leaning unobtrusively against the wall, arms folded, looking smug. He’s not doing anything smutty at all. It’s concerning.

“Did _you_ have a hand in this?” you demand.

He shrugs. “ _I cannot alter reality. Anything that happened to that man was but the fruit of the seeds he sowed himself_.”

You mull that over and nod your head. Dodgy porn and an STD? You don’t find that hard to believe. “And my bonus, promotion and sabbatical?” you press.

He grins and cocks a brow at you. “ _Are you not good at your job_?” 

You decide you don’t want to argue with that. You certainly put the hours in. 

“Now _do I have your attention_?” he asks. 

You stand, remove your sensible cardigan, and let your hair down, physically and metaphorically. “Undivided.” 

You’re still buzzing with all that’s happened. Franco is getting his just desserts, you’ve landed a promotion and a bonus, and best of all, you get to spend the next few weeks with Kadarn, indulging yourselves in whatever depraved activities your wicked little minds can devise. You’re already making a mental list. He may be a mischievous, interfering beast, but he’s just earned all the brownie points. 

“So what now?” you ask. You want to spin the wheel of smut and see what it comes up on: shower, bed, kitchen, garden table, garden centre, handcuffs…

“ _I thought maybe we could talk_.”

You give him the stink-eye. He’s just pulled who knows what cosmic strings to free you up for four straight weeks of kinky interspecies sex and he wants to talk? You nonetheless let him take your hand and lead you through to your bedroom, where he turns you to face the mirror and begins to remove the rest of your clothing while you watch. That’s more like it. This is not the time for a friendly chin-wag. He slides your long-sleeved top up over your head and then runs two hands over your arms while the other pair snake across your abdomen, bringing patches of warmth wherever they touch.

“ _Our relationship did not begin as it should have_ ,” he murmurs against your ear. He has to stoop quite a bit to bring his head to the same level as yours, and you reach up to hook your arm over the back of his neck, keeping him close. “ _Had things gone to plan, I would have begun our affair by asking you to describe to me your desires…_ ” two hands move to rub against your nipples through your bra. “Your needs…” Another tilts your head back to rest on his chest. “ _Your fantasies_ …” You watch the fourth hand dance down over your abdomen and under your waistband, homing like a snatch-seeking missile onto your waiting womanhood. He’s talking about the night you summoned him, and you realise he’s touching you in exactly the same way he did back then. You suck in a shaky breath, meeting his burning yellow eyes in the mirror. Your brain is tying to follow what he’s saying, but he’s making it hard.

You open your mouth to ask him to elaborate on the point you’re sure you’re just missing, but he presses his lower body against yours and tightens his grip everywhere he is holding you. Whatever you were going to ask floats off into the ether.

“ _But all did not go as planned_ …”

You grin and give him a lazy, aroused chuckle. You know that. It’s your fault. You and your sliding elbow.

“ _Even before you released me_.”

You blink, trying to focus your mind around the incredible sensations his hands are causing. This is _important_ , damnit. Listen to him! 

“Before?” Your voice is slurred, as though you’ve already drunk a gallon of wine. It’s not the case, but you add it to your to-do list for later.

“ _Tasting your blood was not my only sin_.”

What other sin has he committed? You reach for his hands where they are engaged with your breasts, reasoning that if perhaps if he stops treating your nipples like the knobs on an Etch-a-sketch for a moment, you can concentrate more easily. You interlace your fingers with his to pull them away, but he just squeezes your digits, holding them in place while he continues to scramble your thoughts.

“ _I should have asked you what you wanted; stopped when you tried to end it_ …”

He’s still talking about that first night in the circle, when you summoned him. You recall the paralysing effect that kept you at his mercy, and that you had indeed wanted to end it - until it started feeling fucking amazing. “No hard feelings…” You murmur, grinning. He continues as though he has not heard.

“ _But I could not. I would not.”_

He has sunk three long, wide digits inside you now. You’re damned sure now that your legs have turned to so much jello, and his many arms are the only things keeping you upright. 

“ _You were so wet for me_.” 

You moan, as much at the visions he’s conjuring as the wonderful tingling, stretched sensation between your legs. 

“ _So in need_.”

His words, delivered in that deep, otherworldly voice right against your ear are as exciting as any of the ways his four hands are touching you. You gyrate against him while his strong fingers squeeze the tight buds of your nipples and his long, tapering tongue tickles your ear. 

“ _You were creaming at my touch. How could I leave you unfulfilled_?”

You have no answer for him. His fingers are sliding so easily inside you now, and his pair of cocks (you really need to find names for them!) are pressed tight against your lower back, hot, pulsing and ready for action.

“ _So I held you in thrall_ …” Ah so _that’s_ what the paralysis was! “ _And forced my own desires on you_.”

If he’s talking about fingering you to orgasm, then you’re not sure you quite agree with his wording. You shake your head in denial and his fingers delve deeper, taut and straight, and twisting with each plunge. You cry out. What he’s doing to you now physically would be enough on its own to send you over the edge, but in your mind’s eye, you’re back in the mysterious unknown of that first night, when he both scared and excited you. Your body is just not built to cope with so much stimulation and as his hand reaches a steady, urgent rhythm, hitting you in all the right places while his other hands squeeze tight, you scream your release, jolting in his grasp like a victim of shock therapy. 

You’ve only been out of work five minutes. If this is the shape of things to come, it bodes well for the rest of your holiday. He holds you tight against him, your thighs slick with your own juices, and continues to move his hands, slowly now, easing you down from the summit. He catches your eye in the mirror and holds your gaze, his lips still grazing your ear. 

“ _Had you not released me from the circle that night, I would have suffered the penalty for what I did to you_.”

You scoff. It was his paralysing effect that caused you to fall like a boneless lump out of the circle, and inadvertently let him loose on the world; or your house, at least. But you’ll take the credit if he’s offering it.

“So I saved your skin?” you ask, smug amusement mixing with the satisfaction on your face.

“ _Temporarily. I paid for it when I was punished for tasting your blood. They threw the book at me_.”

Ah, so he’s not just a demon. He’s a _bad boy_. A rulebreaker. Your ultimate weakness. And it also explains why there seemed to be such a stringent punishment for that one blood-drinking incident.

“ _So now, belatedly, I am asking for your desires. I want you to share them with me_.”

You shoot him a self-conscious smile in the mirror. “You’ve already seen most of my fave pornos.”

He grins and bites the shell of your ear. “They have certainly given me ideas.” He butts against your rear and you stare at him in a lust-fulled daze, pulling at his hands until he releases you. You take in the sight of him and your entire body lights up with need. You’ve literally just come, but just one glance at him, standing here in your room is enough to send your hormones into a frenzy. 

“And what about you?” you ask, running a hand over his chest and tracing the outlines of his sculpted stomach before dancing down towards the double trouble below. “What do _you_ want?” 

He is silent for so long that you wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. That secret communication system that you have indicates he’s thinking and rethinking his response. What on earth could he be contemplating that’s making him so secretive?

“ _You’ll find out_ ,” he responds at last. He couldn’t have chosen words more calculated to excite you. For the time being, you decide the least you can do is return the favour he’s just done you, and you turn him around and push him towards your bed, kneeling between his outstretched legs as he reclines on the tangled sheets. 

“Now, whose turn is it?” you ask, taking one of his weapons into each hand and looking at him from under your eyelashes. You can see his chest heave and feel his blood pump as his twin ravagers pulse and stand to attention. Your own excitement doubles as two of his hands reach for your head and you wonder which one he’ll pick first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short update this time. I have most of the next chapter drafted too, but I keep chickening out of writing it cos I’m such a prude. XD


	9. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ^^What it says in the title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drops chapter and runs*
> 
> I'll be hanging my head in shame in the corner if anyone wants me. 0.0

**Date / Time unknown.**

  
It’s amazing how well you sleep when you’re being rogered senseless by a horned, horny demonic entity all hours of the day and night. Time passes in a blur and you’re no longer quite sure what day of the week it is, or where the hours go: all you know is that your time (and various parts of your anatomy) are well filled, and that every hour is demon-bonking happy-hour. You’re a little tired and a little sore, but you’re still as keen to try new things as your Hell-spawned lover is. You do wonder how other people who succeed in summoning demons (because let’s be honest, if you can do it based off a reddit post and a couple of bits of magic store tat, anyone can) cope with the relentless sex long term. What if you’d asked for a year instead of six weeks? Your eyes goggle at the thought. You’d never walk straight again. 

You raise the issue subtly with Kadarn, and he reminds you that your situation is unique. Most people don’t have their Satan-sent sex partners wandering around their homes for weeks on end. You put the pieces together in your head at last. “So if I hadn’t accidentally released you, you’d have been confined to the circle for the duration?” 

He nods. “ _I would only have been able to appear when you called me - or if I seduced you into doing so_.” 

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Seduced how?” 

He reaches for you with two of his arms and slides you across the couch towards him, stroking a hand over the column of your neck, and looking at you from under his brows. “ _Putting subliminal ideas into your head, whispering to you in dreams. The usual_.” 

“Oh,” you manage. You’re still electrified by his touch, days (weeks?) into your relationship, and the thought of him seducing you in that way excites you even more. A thought flits through your mind; unpleasant; worrying. What if he’s already been doing just that? What if your libido is being influenced by his own desires - would you have been so keen to engage in so many outrageous acts? Is everything you do together just down to the machinations of his depraved mind? Your eyes wander to the smooth curve of his chest, and your hands follow the path your eyes take, sliding over his hard shoulders and moving to play with the odd dreadlock-shaped tubes that pass for his hair. This close, you can make out the individual strands of gold in his luminescent irises, and you bring a hand to trace along his sharp, jutting cheekbones and the hollow planes of his cheeks until you reach his lip. It’s warm and soft beneath your fingers and the heat from his skin permeates yours. There is nothing about him that doesn’t drive you wild with desire, and simultaneously make you want to cuddle and kiss and tickle and tease him. You dismiss your concerns. If he is using his evil powers of seduction on you, they’re far stronger than you are, and considering how good they make you feel, it's pointless fighting them. 

“ _You still haven’t told me your desires_.” His voice rumbles through you, the inherent demand to know what pleases you setting your skin a-tingle. 

You clam up. There is something you want, but despite everything you’ve done together - the sexual acrobatics, the z-movie marathons, the kinky confectionery-based games (note to self: remember to trademark donut-dong hoop-la)- you’re reluctant to ask for it. It’s an element of shyness, coupled with a need for him to just _do it_ without you having to tell him. You bite your lip and side-eye him, running through the scenario in your mind. Even as you do so, his bright, snake-like eyes lock onto yours and you’re certain of something: he already _knows_. Oh Hell, that smile. It’s almost enough to bring you to a climax just looking at it. It’s pure, dark, sexual glee, brimming with intelligence and the clear knowledge that he has _plans_. You shake yourself and try to steer the conversation to something else before you embarrass yourself. 

“Hey, since we’re stuck with each other for a few more weeks, how about working our way through the Karma Sutra?” OK, as diversions from sex-talk go, it’s counter-productive, but it does at least get you away from the question that’s making you squirm. 

Kadarn pulls a face. “ _Your tastes are antiquated. I’d rather we worked our way through that other titillating compendium you shared with me. What was its name?_ ” 

“Uh … Pornhub?” 

He grins, exposing his black fangs and slicking a tongue over the sharp, glossy surfaces. Your cheeks and ears betray you with a flush at his overt demonstration of lust, and you hurriedly hand him the laptop to pick your next sexperiment. You just hope no-one ever looks at your search history. 

For a while, you sit and observe him as he trawls Earth’s finest selection of scud-flicks with an amused smile curving his lips. You do love having him around, and while he’s still finding opportunities for mischief - your recent release from work and revenge-served-cold against Franco notwithstanding - you do understand he’s just flirting with you. Only yesterday he interfered with you while you phoned your folks, stroking you to a near-crescendo while you listened to a lengthy update on Auntie Alice’s gout. You also took him out for a stroll one evening. Just once. Never again. Although there weren’t many people about, and you know no-one can see him, whenever anyone came into view, his damned tail got into the most unlikely places. As a consequence, you’re now sure that at least two of your neighbours think you’re the kind of perv that walks around with a sex toy in her knickers.  
  
You’re pulled back to the present when Kadarn makes a ‘ta-da’ noise and turns the laptop to face you. Oh dear. You don’t have the outfit for that. You’ll just have to improvise, but given that your improvisation heretofore has involved substituting kitchen condiments for demon-summoning spell components, he may well be in for a disappointment. 

  
—— 

  
Something pulls you from the warm, dark safety of sleep. You’re drifting comfortably through pleasant dreams, sleeping on your front with your head pillowed on your arms, when your back prickles with cold. You grumble a complaint and twitch with the intention of reaching for the covers. _Damned demonic blanket-hog_. Before you can move your arms, your back is warm again and you smile contentedly and wriggle down into your comfortable dent. The mattress moves beneath you and by and by your sleepy brain realises the heat at your back is in fact your Hell-spawned house-guest, hovering over you. Fine. If he wants to keep you warm with his body heat you have no objections to a living Kadarn-blanket. 

Warm hands, twice the size of yours press against your skin in the middle of your back, curving around your ribs. You sigh in bliss and they ease downwards, squeezing as they warm more of your exposed skin. You wriggle again and bump against one of his arms, which is pressed into the bed at your side, supporting him where he holds himself above you. Your smile widens. You’re really glad you asked for those extra limbs: they double the touch sensations. His other hands aren’t stopping in their journey though, and they smooth down over your buttocks until they cup one hemisphere each and squeeze gently. Your smile becomes a grin, and almost involuntarily, you raise your hips, reveling in the attention and the clear message of admiration it conveys, while encouraging him to continue. His thumbs move lower to hook around your cheeks, pressing perilously close to your sex with their sharp tips. The fuzz in your brain clears somewhat. He’s signalling he is after more than just a touch and even as the thought firms in your mind, his claws grip, sinking into the soft flesh of your behind, and pulling firmly. Your breath whispers as you draw it in. He’s exposing your sex, and as you consider what that might lead to, be begins to knead your buttocks, squeezing and pulling, every ounce of pressure tipped with claws. It’s both arousing and a little scary. You’ve seen him shred ceramic tiles with those hands and while you know he can’t - wouldn’t - hurt you, being face down beneath him while his claws both tease and threaten is making your heart trip.   
  
“Kad…?” You called him ‘Kadarn’ all of twice, and you quickly shortened it. It suits him in more ways than one. 

Instead of answering, he shifts his balance and his twin members thud against your backside, where he pushes them both against you. It can’t have been more than a few hours since you indulged him with that hilarious little role play he wanted, and you’re sleepy and comfortable. You open your mouth to tell him just that and you change your mind: you know exactly what he’ll say. He’ll quote the terms of that damned contract again. One of these days you really must use it to your own advantage, and snaffle some satisfaction from _him_ when _you_ feel like it. You mull that over and realise there hasn’t really been a time that you’ve been with him, horny, and not engaged in some wild sexual escapade or other. You’re pretty horny now. Watching even more porn before bed to make plans for the next day wasn’t perhaps the best way to get ready for sleep. 

Hot, wet lips brush your ear as he leans down over your back. “ _Let me in_.” 

You gigglesnort. He knows his way around. What does he want, a trail of breadcrumbs? “What are you up to?”   
  
“ _I’m going to take you_ ,” he growls. 

What on earth is he talking about? He’s acting like you’ve never boinked before. “Ok then,” you chuckle.  
  
“ _I’m going to fuck you. Fill you full of black demon cum_ ,” he says, grinding against your ass. 

Well, that goes without saying. “Mm-hmm. What are you waiting for?” 

When he doesn’t answer, you turn to look at him over your shoulder. You can’t make out much in the darkness, but his eyes light up at least part of his face, enough to tell his gaze is pure wickedness. He rolls his hips, sliding his double trouble against your exposed sex, and you realise what he’s getting at. 

“Hey, wait a minute…” 

“ _Double the pleasure_ ,” he teases, and two hard, hot appendages butt against you, trailing precum against your slit and the skin of your behind. 

“You’re making that up,” you scoff. It seems even demon males conform to the stereotype: they too will say anything for some backdoor action. 

“ _You doubt my word_?” 

You’re not a complete stranger to what he’s proposing but double the pleasure? Surely not. However, you’re burning with both curiosity and need, and the truth is, this is what you’ve been wanting; what you’ve been too chicken to ask for, and he knows that. The weird psychic bond you share may not be able to convey words, but there are certain things you just _know_ with utter certainty - and therefore he does too. And right now, there’s one thing you’re absolutely certain of, sure as eggs is eggs: you both want this.  
  
“ _Then let me show you_.” 

Even as the thought becomes a known truth in your head, Kadarn tilts his hips and with unerring aim, slides his upper dick into your sodden womanhood, raising your hips for better access. Here in the dark, under the warmth of his body, it feels incredible, your sense of touch compensating for your limited sight and amplifying everything. The fingers of his free right hand make their way to your mouth, where you suck them eagerly, noting they taste vaguely of donut. When he withdraws them, he trails the wet tips down over your back, across your buttock and down between your cheeks, pressing insistently against your pucker - just in case you were in any doubt about his plans. He stops, does something beyond your sight, then presses his fingertip back against you, coated in something cool and slippery. It’s so slick it glides and he works it in slowly, letting you get used to the invasion of his long, thick digit. He coordinates his movements, pushing the length of his finger deep inside you while his cock penetrates your front passage. He stops with his hips locked against your body and his palm pressed tight against your cheeks. You breathe in, shaking, then take in more air, and more again. He’s not moving, so all you can do is lie there, pressed into the bed under him and focus on dealing with what he has done to you. 

“Breathe,” he advises. 

You puff out a long, shuddering breath. You had no idea you were holding it in. 

As your breathing resumes a normal rhythm, and you start to get used to feeling him _there_ , he slips his finger out, withdrawing his cock at the same time, and you gasp at the loss. He does that secretive little action again, out of your line of sight, and this time you notice a wet, gloopy noise that you try your best to ignore. When his finger returns to its former position, it has a companion, and you find yourself trying once again to remember how to breathe as he slides the pair inside your ass while socketing his manhood in your yielding pussy. He holds you there again, just at the limits of comfort, and you’ve barely had time to get used to it when he withdraws, and adds a third finger to the mix. 

You grind your face into the pillow. It’s not your first time, but it’s been a number of years since that drunken night at college and you had forgotten what it felt like. Your college boyfriend didn’t have half the skill your ancient, demonic smut-beast of a lover does, and while you’re trying to come to terms with the taut, stretched sensation, you also know you love being filled like this. When he is hilted in you again, he grinds his hips against your buttocks, swirling his enormous cock inside you while his three fingers wriggle and twist and try to separate from each other, stretching you wider with each passing second. 

“Uhhhhfuckohgodfffmmmmmm…” you mumble into the pillow, eliciting an amused laugh from your tormentor. 

When he is sure he has teased and readied you enough, he withdraws from everywhere he is in you, and realigns his hips. You take a high, sharp breath as he pushes the tip of his upper dick against you, already slick with your own arousal. He uses his free left hand to tilt your head towards him while his thumb slips into your mouth, and you can see his luminous eyes dim as he pushes on your ring of muscle. He holds your gaze as he breaches your ass, mentally joined with you as his smooth tip opens the prepared entrance and the head pops neatly inside. 

Your eyes bulge as the hot, smooth appendage expands your hole and holds it open, and your mind trips into a litany of ‘omigodthingsaren’tsupposedtogoINthere’. The seconds tick past and there’s no movement, no additional demands from him, and you begin to calm as you get used to his cockhead where it pulses inside your ring. 

“ _You like this_?” 

You groan around his thumb. 

“ _You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you_?” You nod. There’s no denying that. It’s been on your mind the whole time. “ _Ever since you saw what you’d summoned. What you’d wished for. This was what you were afraid to ask of me_.” 

He leans a little more of his weight on you and you cry out as your ass spreads to accommodate another inch.  
  
“ _It has also been my desire_...”

His other, equally hard boner is pressing against your lips now, and he raises your torso for a moment to take aim, then nudges the other forward until the head slips easily inside you. You’re so wet right now you could probably take a marrow. 

“… _To fill you completely. To know you have taken everything I have to give. To feel your tight little cunt squeeze me while I ream your ass_.” 

You jolt. He’s never spoken to you like this before. Is this just some dirty talk designed to excite you, or is he finally letting loose with what he really wants to say now he’s broken down your last barrier? Whichever it is, there’s no way you’re going to be able to join in the discussion. You’re in sensory overload and his coarse words have left you wet and speechless. You’re dying for him to continue though, and as usual, Kadarn does not disappoint. He moves his hips from side to side, testing, teasing, then feeds another inch into your ass, with a matching length sliding inside your cleft. You whimper, eyes bulging, drooling around his thumb. 

“ _Can you take a little more_?” 

You have absolutely no idea. You already know he’s not the most patient sort, and when you fail to answer, he drives forward again. Your taut innards put up some resistance and you just slide forward on the bed. He grunts and changes the configuration of his arms. One rests on the bed at your right, propping him up, one feeds a thumb into your mouth, and the other two wrap around your torso to stop you from sliding away from him. With your body secured, he tries again and your head drops down onto the pillow as the pressure inside increases exponentially. 

“ _Talk to me,_ ” he orders. He rotates his hips, causing little peaks of pleasure and force. 

“Mmmmmmm….” You mumble. He pulls his thumb out from your between your lips, holding the wet tip against your cheek.   
  
“ _What_?” 

“M… more,” you groan. 

Kadarn obliges. Your breathing is coming in tiny, desperate huffs and your cheeks burn as he fills you. He may have had half the fingers of one hand in you before, but they were nothing compared to the solid, weighty feel of his cock mining your depths. You’re starting to feel the effect of having his second, shorter, thicker member pushing its way into your pussy too; each inch is ridged and bumpy, and you’re still nowhere near that massive bulge that makes it widen alarmingly towards the base. You free your arms from under your head and press them against the mattress, trying to adjust your position. The hands of his two upper arms seek yours and his long, hard fingers interlace with yours as he presses them, and you into the bed.  
  
“ _Do you want me to go deeper_?” 

You’re more than full already and his monstrous girths are causing intense strain, but part of you just knows you won’t feel right until they are where they want to be; where they belong. 

“Yes.” You nod as best you can with your face in the pillow. 

“ _Tell me_ ,” he orders. 

Ah, you know the lyrics to this tune. It turns him on to know you want it. “Please,” you breathe. 

“ _Please what_?” 

“Please deeper.” That’s it. That’s about as much of a sentence as you can form right now.   
  
He’s starting to withdraw. You panic and rally your brain-cells to put some of those latent linguistic talents to use. “Please, I want you in me. All the way. Deep. Now.” 

He releases one of your hands and brushes a thumb against your lip. “ _If you need to bite something, bite me_ ,” he offers.  
  
You manage a slight smile at him over your shoulder. “Likewise.” 

If the look on his face is anything to go by, someone is definitely going to get bitten tonight. He utters a low grunt and raises his hips to begin his entry yet again, and as your ass fills up with his cock, your womanhood is opened wider and wider by his tapering, ridged member as he drives them both home with all the strength in his huge, muscular frame. As you swallow each inch in sequence, the overwhelming sensation intensifies until his hips smack home against your buttocks and you see sparks. You’ve never been this full. His heat is all over your back and his arms are encompassing you, and through it all, you feel wanted. Desired. _Loved_. You keep your face tilted towards him, your eyes locked on each other, sharing every second’s wonder. Something warm and tingly spreads through your entire body, suffusing you with pleasure. You just want to stay here with him inside you forever, hidden in all your secret places, pleasing you in a way no one man ever could. 

Pinned. 

_Claimed_. 

It’s not a word you’re overly fond of, having been overused in the trashy adult fiction you’ve drained dry in recent years, but there’s no better way of describing the way you feel right now. And you _love_ it. 

Just as you’re getting used to having a pair of outsized demon dicks rearranging your insides, he begins to move; tiny thrusts at first, barely withdrawing more than a half-inch or so before sheathing himself to the hilt again. As the minutes tick past, his strokes lengthen, although he’s still going easy on you, easing his turgid cocks inside you with a grind of his hips at the end of each thrust. He is hunched over you, moving with slow, sure strokes, while his breath is hot and harsh against your ear. You see his clawed hand dig into the mattress next to your head and you hear the cotton tear under the tension of his sharp grip, testament to the amount of effort it's taking to hold himself in check. Your non-verbal link with him assures you that he just wants to let loose and hammer you, and while there’s a big part of you that wants that too, you also don’t want to spend the next few weeks suffering the consequences of letting a seven-foot double-dicked demon piledrive you all the way to the ER.   
  
For long, sweet, blissful moments, there is nothing but the beautiful feeling of his members gliding in and out like the pistons in a well-oiled engine. His tail is wrapped around your thigh and the flanged end has slipped between you and the bed, where it rubs teasingly against your outer lips and clit. You moan your delight at every single thing he's doing to you: this is starting to feel really fucking good. 

“ _Ah!_ ” It’s the first time he has ever cried out in passion: he must really be enjoying this. And who could blame him? If it feels good for you, it’s likely just as good for him. Your breathing has synchronised with his, and is coming in harsh, staccato bursts.  
  
“ _Hellgods_ …” 

You’ve managed to arch your back a little more as you crane your head towards his. Those amazing protrusions on his thicker dick, the one plundering your v-hole, are making your insides sing as each ridge, each nub plays havoc with your lips and your inner walls with the rapidly increasing speed of his thrusts. 

" _You’re_ …” 

The longer, smoother one is bottoming out in your ass on every in-stroke, and causing all sorts of crazy sparks of hot pleasure, but you’re also taking quite a lot of psychological delight from this. This is taboo in a million different ways, and Kadarn is giving you as much stimulation as any two men could. It’s tantamount to being double-teamed by a single being. Your mind reels. 

“ _Tiiight_ …” 

Shit. He’s losing control. He’s also not wrong. There is barely enough room for both of them inside you; you feel full, you’re damned sure some of your internal organs are being battered around and your stomach is bulging a little against the bed from the alien appendages ravaging it. His arms are continuing to hold you immobile under his immense weight and pounding hips, allowing him to nail you however he pleases, while his heavy balls slap against your thighs. 

He speeds to a punishing rhythm, withdrawing almost to the tips with every stroke, and to your mixed horror and delight, he is soon ramming them into you, reaming cunt and ass - as promised - with his demonic flesh. The hand that tore the sheets - and, as it happens, the mattress - moves to grip your throat, claws sinking into soft flesh with a burn and a tickle that indicates he’s drawn blood. His cheek is pressed to yours and he’s stopped making sense. He’s growling out short, harsh words in his own language; guttural, dissonant. It sounds filthy. His thrusts reach a crescendo, plundering both your holes, and he throws his head back with a vicious cry, then he snaps it forward and several sharp, black teeth sink into your shoulder. 

Pure liquid pleasure fills you from groin to chest and you jolt beneath the crushing force of his weight, your body squirming as it tries to work through its release within the constraints of his hold. If it weren’t for his hand around your throat, you’d be screaming his name right now. You’ve no choice but to be borne along with him as his orgasm rips through him, and his cocks spurt copious amounts of black demon spunk all over your insides. He pushes you well past your limit, through the end of your climax and straight into a second without a moment's pause. You judder through it, squirming and gasping in ecstasy, and sensing a third climax building from the weird orgasmic properties of his cum. Your fists clench in the sheets beneath you as he rams home one final time and you feel his issue begin to pour out around the stoppers of his cocks and that third wave smashes into you, stealing your consciousness before your brain overloads and the blackness takes you.   
  
Damnit. 

He was right again. He’s going to be unbearable after this. 

“You lied,” you mutter into the pillow when you return to your senses. 

He makes a high-pitched ‘huh’ sound that is completely out of character, and, you would have thought, outside of his vocal range. It sounds inquisitive though, so you enlighten him. 

“That wasn't double. That was ... sextuple or something.”   
  
The only response is a breathless chuckle, and he drops his forehead against your shoulder, breathing hard. His twin dicks pulse inside you, softening and twitching, and the sensation of having something outsized rammed in where it doesn’t fit fades with each heartbeat. 

Presently, Kadarn withdraws and helps you turn over, because you appear to have all the muscle strength of a four-day-old blancmange. The instant you’re on your back, his lips find yours and a hand presses against your cheek and neck. His tongue engages yours, curling around it and licking everything within reach while his lips smooch and squidge against your mouth like a horny teenager in his first Frenching session. You’re gasping again by the time he stops and with a slight sinking feeling you realise that what you’ve been afraid might happen all along has finally come to pass. Your mind is blown. The earth moved. Fireworks, all that bullcrap. It’s all well and good while it’s happening (oh boy is it well and good!), but here’s the drawback: you’re not sure you’ll ever be satisfied with a human lover ever again; or for that matter that you ever want to engage in any other type of sex from now on. How will anything else ever live up to what you’ve just experienced? 

Before you can lose yourself in such sombre thoughts, Kadarn scoots off the side of the bed, slides an arm under your shoulders and another under your knees and scoops you effortlessly from the mattress, making tracks for the bathroom. 

When he’s sure you’re safe to be released under your own recognizance, you step into the shower, soon spotting the holes in the wall where his claws rent it. Your eyes bulge. How hard must those black-tipped weapons be, and how strong are his hands for him to crunch through ceramic tiles as though they were paper? It’s a good thing he’s friendly, and bound by contract not to harm you. It’s a slightly concerning train of thought though: what if he loses control, or you argue? What if you hadn’t wanted to get double teamed just now? Could you have stopped him? You turn worriedly to look at him, to find him lathering himself with your Happy Shopper soap, grinning, satisfied and humming the refrain from ‘Paint it Black’. Your misgivings vanish. You’ve had your first argument, where you called him all the names going, and gave him a prime opportunity to show his true colours: all he did was sulk. Plus, for some reason, you trust him. Maybe it’s this shared mental link, or maybe its his evil influence corrupting your thoughts, but you’re pretty sure he’s benign. Either way, you resolve to stop worrying about it. 

Before long you’re both clean, but you’re having too much fun playing with Kadarn’s soapy cocks to stop, and you don't think your boobs have ever been this clean. You’re pretty sure you heard one of them squeak just now. Your black-and-red demonic friend seems to be enjoying both activities, so you combine them, squishing his soapy dicks between your equally soapy breasts and before you know it, he’s painted the tiles black. 

“Again?” you ask, dumbfounded. 

The hot, wet demon in question has the audacity to waggle his eyebrows at you. 

By the time you eventually get out of the shower, dry your hair and get back into bed, it’s getting on for 5am. Not that it matters. You’re pretty sure you’ve still got a few weeks left, although you’re a little sketchy on the exact date. You curl up against his side with your arms and legs entwined, and his tail wraps around your ankle. You’re still sparking from what’s happened tonight, but sleep is already eating at the corners of your mind, and you’re happy to let it take you: you need time to process what you’ve just done. One final thought flits through your mind as you drift off into the comfort of sleep: if this is the shape of things to come for the next few weeks, you’re going to be a zombie by the end of it.   
  
A very satisfied zombie.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this. I've been trying to write this scene for weeks but I kept chickening out. You guys might well think it's pretty tame, but I've never written anything like this before and I'm now going to go and hide.
> 
> Oh, and I drew his winkles. https://exophile3d.tumblr.com/post/632586996216430592/kadarn-nsfw


	10. Demonic possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and a new deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less smut this time (sorry!). I got a bit feral writing the next one though, so there’s double helpings next time. I also updated the last chapter - nothing significant, just a few sentences that were bugging me. If you want an excuse to read it again, ta-da!

**Monday October 19th, 2020**

They just don’t make beds for seven-foot demons.

In fairness to bed-manufacturing companies, the presence of demons in this world is not widely believed, and even if it were, as a rule of thumb they don’t camp out in people’s houses for weeks on end, so there’s just no market for beds to fit eldritch horrors, werewolves or demons. Kadarn has a solution for this, although it leaves a lot to be desired. He sleeps on the diagonal, meaning his toes jut a little over the edge of the mattress, and the amount of space in the bed for other people - say for example the person who _owns_ it - is in limited supply. Your solution to his solution is to sleep on top of him. If there’s a demon hogging the mattress, you’ll just hog that demon right back.

Consequently, you awaken sprawled across his chest and abdomen, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. You lie still for a few moments, resting your chin on your hand and noting that even asleep, a tiny smile curves the corner of his wide-lipped mouth. He’s probably still stoked about what you did last night, although not as stoked as you are. That just wouldn’t be possible. Underneath the bubbling excitement and maniacal happiness that has painted a permanent grin on your face, you’re aware you’re probably going to need a little ibuprofen to get through the day. And maybe a soft cushion. You give your resident pain in the ass (see what you did there?) an indulgent smile and slip off downstairs in search of tea and drugs.

While you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, you assemble the ingredients for some breakfast and check the calendar, soon realising you have no idea what day it is. You dig out your phone from between the cushions on the couch, and when it has charged to the minimum, you find - in amongst the notifications about missed calls and messages - that it’s October 19th.

_October 19th?_

Did you just _lose_ eleven days?

Well no, obviously you didn’t lose them. You have squeezed plenty of activities into that timeframe: you’ve had physically improbable sex with a being from another plane of existence, exhausted Troma’s entire back catalogue - along with a huge number of low-budget 80s classics - and meanwhile Kadarn has eaten his bodyweight in Krispy Kremes. You have no idea where he’s putting it though - his stomach is still as flat as a pancake. A well-muscled pancake. Still, you had no idea you had used up so much of your time with him. You flip back a page in the calendar and count forward through the weeks, circling a date. You deflate like a punctured beach ball. You’ve just pinpointed the hour your demonic lover will be departing: 3am Saturday October 31st. _Great_. Your favourite holiday will be forever marred by the anniversary of Kadarn leaving you.

You glance back up to today’s date and you swear under your breath, wishing you hadn’t looked at the damned calendar in the first place. Fucking marvellous. Aunt Flo is coming today. You check your phone messages as you chew disinterestedly at your breakfast, noting a few friends have been trying to check on you since you missed two Friday night Zoom & booze calls in a row. You fire off a few responses to put their minds at rest and chase your breakfast down with a couple of painkillers. 

You glance up to see Kadarn wandering across the room, stark bollock naked as ever, and you wonder if they even have clothes where he comes from. He has objected quite strongly to you wearing anything since your ‘holiday’ started, and while it’s flattering that he prefers to see you in your birthday suit, it’s October and your house is not exactly toasty. You convinced him that while he might have some devil-given gift of inner heat, you really feel the cold and - reluctantly - he now tolerates occasional non-nudity. Barely. Your first thought as you greet him is still to offer him tea and breakfast, even though he rarely partakes of anything, but damnit, it’s just not natural to have a house-guest and not be plying them with tea every five minutes. You feel like the worst hostess in the world.

He moves towards you and you admire the confident, graceful stride that demonstrates his control of his sturdy frame. Every step he takes sets your nerves tingling until you can feel the heat radiating from him where he stands, not twelve inches from you. He reaches for the neckline of your robe, slips his black-glass claws under the edge and pulls it aside. Even that is enough to send your desire for him spiking.

“ _How is it_?”

For a moment, you have no idea what he’s talking about, then you recall the uber-hickie he landed on you at the height of last night’s double-dicking antics. You forgot to check it this morning, which bodes well. It’s obviously not bothering you. You slip around him and the doorframe into the lounge and examine the damage in the mirror. There is a faint, circular set of puncture marks, surrounded by a fading bruise. It looks days old. There is also a set of small, semi-circular puncture wounds in your neck where his claws went in, which also look old and faded. Kadarn appears in the mirror behind you, blotting out the light.

“They’re healing fast,” you observe.

He nods. He doesn’t offer any further information but your connection with him suggests he knows something and isn’t telling. You frown, then whirl to face him as a horrifying thought flits through your mind. “Are you going to get in trouble for this?” 

Fuck it. if they try to take him away again, you’re just going to wrap yourself around his leg and they’ll have to haul you off to Hell with him.

Kadarn chuckles. “ _This time, I had your permission_.” He strokes his hand across the wound. It’s slightly more tender under the hot, sharp pressure of his touch, but it’s worth the minor ache to feel the heat of his hand on such a sensitive spot. Your eyelids flutter closed involuntarily and you focus on his touch. The heat radiating from him rises as he steps closer to you. 

“ _What we did last night_ ,” he begins, “ _Pleased me beyond measure_.”

Preaching to the choir, brother. You nod and he runs his hand down over your neck, fingers spread wide, trailing the sharp obsidian points against your skin.

“ _I would like to do that again_ ,” he murmurs, and you start to wonder if he’s got a taser in his pocket because you light up with electricity at his words. His simple statement of desire hurls you back into the secret darkness of last night’s lovemaking, while his lips come within a whisker of touching yours, and his breath puffs against your face. His hand returns to his mark and traces around it, tapping each clawtip on it in sequence. A low growling noise begins to issue from his chest and your eyes shoot open in alarm. He is hunched forward, inches from your face, his eyes locked on your neck and the bite-mark he left. They flick back to yours and burn with a new intensity as he registers your attention.

“ _Mine_.” 

Oh dear. This gives a whole new meaning to ‘demonic possession’. His head darts forward and he kisses you hard, his forked tongue delving into your mouth and demanding a response, which you give him as best as you can until you run out of breath. He pulls his head back and fixes you with the full force of his unholy glare. “ _Say it_.”

While you try to muster enough non-sex-obsessed braincells to make some words, he tears open your robe and slides three of his four arms inside, the last resting on the wall by your head for support. Two slide across your hips to grasp your buttocks, and the other rests on his bite-mark. The thumb-claw moves to poke you under the chin until you tilt your head up to meet his gaze, some eighteen inches above your eye-level. Another taser blast hits you in the chest. There’s no doubt about it: your connection is stronger when you look at each other. It perhaps shouldn’t be a surprise, but you don’t know how the damn thing works. You’re flying by the seat of your pants here. 

“ _Say it_!” The demand is fiercer this time. He really needs to hear it.

“I’m-”

He pushes his lower body against you, pinning it to the wall and slides a hard, muscular thigh between your legs. He raises his head, imperiously, demanding you finish your micro-sentence.

“Yours,” you manage to breathe, and he promptly steals what breath remains with another deep, sharp, thorough kiss. You had been planning to give yourself a sex-break today to let your body recover. What Kadarn is doing to you now is burning all those plans to ash. 

It is about this time that Aunt Flo decides - in her infinite wisdom - to make an appearance. At the first indication, you panic, pushing down on his thigh and heaving your weight against his arms, wriggling like an epileptic eel until he lets you go. You stagger away from his embrace to lean against the wall, panting and dizzy from his attentions.

He extends a hand, his face drawn in lines of concern. “ _Y/n - did I hurt you_?”

You shake your head, trying to process what the two of you have just said to each other, while dealing with the knowledge that your remaining eleven days of rampant sex have just been cut short by at least four. “No, it’s-” You stop. How do you explain this to him? Thankfully, you don’t need to. Realisation spreads across his face and he nods and pulls himself back upright. 

“ _Ah. I see. No - I do not. Why did you stop me_?”

Your face is a picture. “Because… well… _ugh_.” Again, your extensive vocabulary wins the day.

He dismisses your reluctance with a wave and harks back to something you once said to him. “ _What's a little blood between friends_?”

You pull a face. He must realise you’re not going to back down on this one, as he raises his hands in capitulation and you scurry off to deal with your curse. You return to find him ensconced on the couch, his colouring blending well with the dark red suedette of your corner unit. He grins a welcome and holds open two arms, inviting you into a cuddle. You settle yourself next to him, revelling in his natural warmth. 

“ _You have no other… ill effects from last night_?” he asks, rather delicately considering he’s an ancient otherworldly emissary of Satan who was double-teaming you with a pair of monster cocks not eight hours ago.

“Nothing a soft cushion and a couple of pills won’t fix,” you quip with a wink.

He chuckles. “ _Well then. Perhaps you might be good enough to summon that purveyor of fine stories that serve to frighten and amuse_?”

Translation: Find me some more cheesy horror on Google Play, please.

He turns out to be rather impressed with ‘Nightbreed’, and confesses he was unaware humans could display such empathy with ‘monsters’, and although he is amused by Iron Sky, you soon find his attention has wandered. 

“ _There are other things we could do_ …” he suggests. You didn’t think he’d last long without sex, but that’s not a problem. Just being this close to him gives you all sorts of ideas, none of which require making a bloody mess. Take that, Flo. 

Your hand wanders to his crotch and you stroke gently along the smooth, hot, velvety flesh you find there. “Such as?”

Kadarn grins and pulls the blanket up over your heads, wrapping an arm around you to pull you under with him and making you squeal with delight. Before either of you can start anything, the room shakes with a deafening bang and a rush of wind and you jump three feet in the air, landing on your phone. You pull it out from under your behind before you butt-dial yourself again, grimacing at the mild soreness your hard landing has caused. You pull down the blanket to find you and Kadarn are no longer alone. Across the room, just in front of the fireplace stands a twisted mockery of a man, dressed in what looks for all the world like a vicar’s outfit. A black robe covers him from shoulders to toes, and a white band runs the width of his neck. But that’s where the vicar analogy ends. You’re damn sure this thing has never seen the inside of a church - it’s not a walking pile of ash for a start. Its head is one big mouth, surrounded by twisted, stretched skin, pink and puffy and swollen, and concentric rows of shark-like teeth ring its red-rimmed maw.

Kadarn is out from under the blanket and on his feet between you and the intruder before you can take a breath. You’ve never seen him move so fast. His stance is aggressive and his tail lashes around behind him. You fight your way out from under the blanket and off the couch, and peer around your demon friend-turned-protector, backing slowly towards the door. 

Kadarn growls something at the priestly demon in a language that hurts your ears and the two engage in a slanging match - as far as you can tell - in vocal tones that make your skin crawl. Eventually, your companion stiffens, exhales sharply, and backs down. He turns and pads over to the wall near the door and leans against it, arms folded, one foot raised to the hard surface behind him. 

“Leave us,” the uninvited guest hisses at Kadarn. Your companion bristles at the instruction, and his lip curls while his eyes glow bright with fury. You’ve not seen him this angry since he tried to screen-murder Franco in that concall what seems like a lifetime ago. 

“Kad!” you shout. Is he really going to leave you here alone with this cenobyte-wannabe? 

“ _I’m going nowhere_ ,” Kadarn replies, to your profound relief. “ _And don’t mind the Proctor there. He’s an irritating asshat, but he cannot harm you_.” He really is picking up the local lingo. 

If the vicar-demon hears your lover’s insult, he does not acknowledge it. To be fair, you can’t see any ears. He addresses you in a flat, monotone voice that is filled with long sibilants and hard, throat-voiced consonants. “It has come to our attention that there is a breach in your contract with-” and here his voice changes, and he enunciates some foul syllables that make your ears flatten back against your head. But you know them. You’ve heard them before - it’s Kadarn’s true name.

“He’s already paid for his mistake,” you snap. This monthly visitor is really making up for the easy one you had last time: your abdomen is cramping, your back hurts, and you’re in no mood to be lectured by some Hell-sent twat in a vicar’s dress.

He swivels his head towards you and tilts it to one side, far further than any human neck would stretch. You feel vaguely sick, but from what Kadarn has told you, his transgression is over, forgiven, forgotten and paid for. They can’t punish him twice for the same thing, and your irritation makes you ballsy. “You’re not taking hi-”

“Mortal!” his harsh bark stuns you into silence. “You are close to the end of your contract with the Dark Lord now. While it has not followed normal protocol, we wish to recognise your diligence and thank you for your service.”

Service? Diligence? What on earth is he on about? You decide you’ll let this play out and choose your course of action then. A sidelong glance at your resident bed-hog shows he is still reclining against the wall, either relaxed or resigned. Your connection with him is giving nothing away, but that in itself is a little worrying.

“We will not force you to see out the end of this agreement with [error: name could not be stored]. You have already endured his presence far longer than originally planned. Instead, we wish to offer you an improved match for the remaining days of the contract, which will of course reset to normal terms.”

… Did he just offer you an _upgrade_?

You’re just opening your mouth to respond when another being materialises in your lounge, taking up most of the remaining space. Your jaw drops. If this is what they were planning to use to entice you to dump Kadarn, they've seriously missed the mark. They appear to have tried tried to _guess_ what you want rather than letting you define your desires as you did initially. A few weeks ago, you’d have bitten their hands off for an opportunity to spend a night with the nightmare that’s currently looking at you with feral hunger from six feet away; but no creature, no matter the number of extra limbs or exotic appendages could hold a candle to the red-and-black four-armed sex-bomb who pounded you into a puddle of orgasmic slush last night.

“Hmm?” asks the mouth in priest’s robes. “What do you say, mortal?”

You shake your head, unwilling to trust yourself to speak just yet.

“Not convinced? Well, if you continue to pay your dues-” Does he mean sacrificing more chickens? You’ll be egg-bound! “We can offer you something even better.” The nightmare vanishes and is replaced that something that belongs on the cover of a HP Lovecraft book. It fills your entire ground floor with darkness. “Hmmm?” He waves his arms at the encroaching black cloud, pointing at things you absolutely cannot make out. “More arms, better enemy-crushing abilities, far better sex!”

This is quite possibly the worst sales pitch you’ve ever heard. Besides, they’re missing the point. There’s a good reason you don’t want to trade Kadarn in for another model, but you’re not about to explain that to Padre Von DemonPimp over there.

“Have you made a decision?” he asks, steepling his fingers while the eldritch dark floats about your lounge, knocking things over and righting them with little apologetic groans. 

“Yes.”

His steepled fingers raise expectantly.

Kadarn assured you this priestly pimp couldn’t hurt you, and, with the realisation dawning that you actually do trust your favourite bundle of mischief, you meet the Proctor’s gaze. You are royally pissed. You usually hang up when a service provider tries to change the terms and force you to take a new contract you don’t want. This one has turned up uninvited in your home to do the worst sales pitch in history, you can’t ‘hang up’ on them, _and_ you just got your period.

The proctor may not be able to physically undertake what you suggest he can do with himself, but given that he’s a demon, he can bloody well give it a try.

He throws his shoulders back and his head forward, and roars at you until your hair flies back from your face in the infernal winds. He manages a single step towards you before Kadarn unfurls from his resting position against the wall and faces him with his head lowered in open threat. You’d never really considered that his horns could be used for fighting; as far as you’re concerned, they’re handy handlebars you grab onto when you take him for a ride. Plus they look pretty. But the demon priest backs down: he evidently doesn’t want to tangle with two hundred and fifty pounds of horned, angry demon muscle. With a final hissing snarl, he and his Lovecraftian love-match are gone, leaving you alone with Kadarn again, hoping you’ve done the right thing.

He stands watching the spot where the intruders vanished with his tail twitching in irritation. He may just be ensuring they’ve gone, but he is definitely avoiding your eyes. 

“ _You should have taken the deal_.”

“Taken the-?” You break off, mouth hanging open. What the actual _fuck_? “Why?”

“ _Any one of them could do a lot more for you than I can_.”

“Do a lot _for_ me?” You ask, incredulously. He obviously misses the point of your reiteration, and thinks you’re asking him to elaborate. 

“ _I have but a few abilities or advantages to offer you compared to what the Proctor showed you_.”

You fold your arms belligerently. Oh this should be good. Does he really think you care about a bigger, better deal? “Like what?”

He may be an ancient entity from another world, but he completely misses the tone of your voice and blunders on, still avoiding your gaze. “ _I can expedite or exacerbate certain outcomes in the interest of balance_.”

You squint at him. He does talk about balance a lot - is that perhaps his raison d’etre (apart from banging like a barn door in a gale, obviously)? He did once explain to you his place in the Pantheon of Hell, but honestly, the meaning eluded you, not least because you were too busy drooling over his abs at the time. But this would certainly fit with his relentless ‘quid pro quo’ mantra.

“ _And I can exert my influence over my lovers_ ,” he reminds you with a sidelong glance. 

Your squint becomes a scowl. “I hope you haven’t been using that on _me_.”

Kadarn’s sour mood evaporates and his face lights up with a genuine smile. “ _I’ve never had the need!_ ”

You chuckle with him and some of the tension dissipates. You approach him and turn his great horned head to face you, stroking your hand along his cheek. “We have just over a week left, and I want to spend every second of it with _you_.”

He smiles and pulls you in for an embrace that’s half cuddle, half-headlock, and you grin at his ability to sense your thoughts. That was just what you wanted. You soon return to your nest on the couch to snuggle and entertain yourselves with more pulp horror, and Kadarn mentions the incident only once more. 

“ _They must be pleased with the way things are going. They want to keep you. Use that to your advantage_.”  
  
You mull that over as the opening titles to ‘Ghoul School’ roll across the screen. ‘Use that to your advantage’. They want something from you, evidently, and you want something from them. _Quid pro quo_. 

Now all you have to do is work out how to make a new deal with the devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, I didn’t plan the whole leaving on Hallowe’en thing. That’s just serendipity! 


	11. Demonic Ability #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummm… more smut? 
> 
> Ok, if you really want a synopsis, Kadarn shows off one of his demon abilities. And you find some interesting uses for his tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all soooooo much for all the lovely comments! They're what keep the story going. :D

**Monday October 26th, 11pm**

If there’s one thing better than a well-endowed, red-hot, sex-crazed lover from another dimension, it’s a well-endowed, red-hot, sex-crazed lover from another dimension with an imagination.

To pass the time while Flo was in town, you shared some of your favourite pieces of written erotica from around the web, and Kadarn, mischievous walking ball of testosterone that he is, has since been the model of indulgence in acting them out. The sole drawback is that it only ever goes one of two ways with him. He either approaches it with the dedication of a veteran Thespian - he commits faithfully, assuming the role you assign him with such conviction that you’re living the moment through his performance - or he makes it a laugh-riot, depending on his mood. Only yesterday he was pretending to be an orc warlord for you, but for reasons best known to himself, he decided the horny green warrior was going to have a dodgy European accent. He played everything else straight, so he was hammering you full-force up against the wall, using all the dirty, suggestive language in his extensive vocabulary, all while sounding like the French cook from The Little Mermaid. 

He even made up a song.

He also scared the pants off you this morning when he grabbed your ankle as you walked past the bed (you thought he was downstairs at the time). When he coaxed you back to some semblance of calm, you found out he was pretending to be the monster under the bed, and he made up for scaring you with an apology he delivered orally. It was a very long apology. You even managed to make out some of the words. He has also taken to tripping you up with his tail over the last few days. It would be alarming or annoying if it weren’t for the fact that he always seems to trip you into or onto something: the bed, the couch, his arms, and were it not without exception followed by a savaging, or a monumental tickling. And sex. Sometimes he mixes both so indistinguishably that you don’t know whether you’re going to climax or die laughing: you actually had a giggling orgasm at his French orc performance the other day. Either way, he is good for your soul, and you appear to be good for his, if his own reactions are anything to go by. However you’re more worried than ever about not plying him with tea, as he is losing body fluids at an alarming rate.

What you have with Kadarn amounts to more than just sex and laughter though. Every time you _connect_ , your whole body lights up until you feel like you’re on the brink of a climax before you’ve even started anything physical. And it’s reciprocated: you can feel his happiness, and even sense his pleasure through the link when he’s pumping out his copious quantities of black demon spunk. It has occasionally added a fourth layer to a single orgasm, and that very phenomenon knocked you out for several minutes just last night. You woke to find him mooning over you like a dragon with a hoard of gold, and you have been mercilessly taking the piss out of him for it ever since.

Of course, you’re still worried about the consequences of turning down the Proctor’s offer, and whenever you think about Kadarn suggesting you should have taken the deal, it almost breaks your heart, but you understand on some level he just wants what’s best for you, so your heartache is tempered. Besides, you’re quietly looking into ways around the ending of your contract whenever you have a moment to yourself - which isn’t often, given your demonic house-guest’s unlimited sex drive, and his desire to spend the rest of his time either wrapped around you like a living blanket or entertaining you with his comedy accents. You are however more than a little curious about the unholy powers Kadarn was so keen to play down after the Proctor’s failed upsell, and you’ve questioned him about them several times, only to be rebuffed.

Tonight, you’ve decided you’re not going to let the matter drop, and you have finally hit upon a plan to get him to show them to you. You’ve experienced one of them before, and you’re keen to undergo it again on your terms. You reason that perhaps encouraging him to demonstrate an ability you’re both familiar with will lead on to him sharing the others with you. It’s not the worst plan in the world, and you have to start somewhere. You’re lazing on your bed with Kadarn by your side in the candlelight, recovering from your latest bout of wrestling when you start to think quite intensely about what you want. You still haven’t figured out how your psychic connection with him works - although you’re pretty certain it alerts him every time you’re thinking about putting clothes on, given the speed with which he arrives in your room to throw said clothes out of the window - but you have found that focusing on a single thought brings some measure of success. 

As the idea crystallises in your mind’s eye, he fixes you with a stare that could make a nun flash and pulls you towards him across three feet of bed. He butts his great horned head in between your neck and shoulder, where he can whisper naughty things in your ear, just the way you like, and rumbles, “ _There’s something you want_.”

Gooseflesh peppers your skin and you’re suddenly cold everywhere that isn’t in contact with him. You want to rectify that immediately and you slip nearer to him, raising a thigh over his hip and curling a hand around the back of his neck to keep him close. You focus more strongly on what you want, but you don’t say anything aloud. 

Kadarn growls low in his chest at your silence. “ _You have a burning desire_ ,” he intimates. His tail coils around your waist, securing you against his body and your heart speeds until you can feel it in your chest where it’s squished against his. You still say nothing. He tilts your face towards him, brushes his lips against yours and he holds you where he can look into your eyes and strengthen your connection. “ _It consumes you_.” He’s not wrong. He’s also clearly enjoying this, as both his privates are now standing to attention against your thighs and belly, ready for deployment. “ _What is it_?”

You give him a shy smile, which is quite the hypocrisy given some of the activities the two of you were indulging in not thirty minutes ago. Your fingers stroke against the back of his thick neck, while your other hand draws little circles across his crimson pectorals. “One of the abilities you mentioned.”

Kadarn plays dumb. “ _Influencing outcomes in the interest of balance_?”

You scowl at him and his black-mirror grin appears, glassy fangs glinting inches from your lips. He knows what you’re getting at. He just wants you to say it.   
  
“You said you had me in thrall that first night.” His smile falters. You know what’s troubling him: he was punished for using that ability to please you against your will. “You’d have my express permission, of course.” 

His grin doubles in width. “ _And what would you like me to do to you, while you’re enthralled_?”

You shrug and your cheeks flush as you think about it. He gets the message. ‘Anything you want’.

There’s no delaying of anything with Kadarn. The moment either of you decide you want to do something, he gets to work making it happen, which has occasionally led to incinerated dinners when he decides you bending over to put a ready meal in the oven is enough to warrant an instant banging. So he rolls you onto your back and advises you to get comfortable. Your entire body tingles with anticipation. You trust him - he has never forced you into anything, always stopped if you’ve asked him to (not that _that’s_ happened often!) - but that trust is about to be put to the ultimate test. When you’ve confirmed you’re comfy, he straddles your thighs and drops two of his hands to the bed either side of your head, leaning down low until his eyes fill your vision. They glow gently as always, and you take the opportunity to admire the slit pupils that seem at once both feline and reptilian. He captures and holds your gaze and there’s a sudden wash of heat that runs from your scalp to your toenails. When it passes, everything stiffens as though your body is encased in concrete. You swallow. That works, at least. With a little experimentation you find you can still breathe, move your eyes, blink and speak, but that’s it. You can’t voluntarily move your limbs, your torso or your neck. 

“ _Are you sure this was wise_?” he taunts, “ _Putting yourself at my mercy_?” 

“Didn’t think you had any,” you retort. Your tone is cheeky but your arousal is building. He’s crouched over you on elbows and knees, huge, hot and horny, and his eyes promise such wicked pleasures. He weighs down the bed all around you: he’s a good eighteen inches taller than you, and probably twice your weight. It equates to many, many times your strength. Even if you weren’t in his thrall, if it came to a physical struggle, he’d win hands down, although that’s currently the furthest thing from your mind.

He looks down at your breasts and slicks his tongue over his teeth in a motion that reminds you of a Savannah predator savouring its meal. Your nipples have stiffened already, in part from the lack of his body heat against you, and in part from the predicament you yourself have brought about. 

“ _Are those for me_?” 

You try to nod then remember you can’t and the little nubs become even harder. He lowers his head, bringing his lips so close you can feel the heat from them against your cold skin. Your body tenses in anticipation of his kiss, then he tilts his head at the last moment and runs the side of his curved horn over the hardened bud. Every nerve in your body lights up with electricity. His horn is cold, hard and ribbed and sends little jolts of pleasure through your breast and straight into your crotch with every bump he runs against your nipple. You suck your breath in through your teeth, hissing at the unusual sensation.

Kadarn grins like a demon. Well duh. He leaves your other breast unattended, much to your annoyance, and murmurs, “ _Let’s see what else there is for me to play with_.” 

He slips off the end of the bed and he lifts your legs up to his front shoulders, grasping your thighs hard to keep them from falling. It’s a fucked-up feeling: you have no control over your limbs but you can feel his touch just as strongly as ever. Meanwhile he slides his front set of arms up over your torso and his black-clawed fingers begin to roll and squeeze your nipples while he buries his tongue between your legs. He drags each forked point slowly up and down your outer lips before he plunges the thick, wet muscle into you and licks around your inner walls as though he’s trying to touch his nose with his tongue. You’re starting to realise what you’ve committed to putting yourself through. Under normal circumstances, you’d be rolling your head around, clenching your fists, shifting your hips to maximise contact - but all that is lost to you while you are in Kadarn’s thrall. You let out a long, juddering breath and you’re answered by a gentle squeeze on your thighs which, through your link with him, you interpret as inquisitive. You calm your breathing, You can deal. You hope.

Your demonic lover adjusts his position at the foot of the bed, raising his head so he is pressing down on you from above. His lips are locked around your clit and he’s sucking it like he’s draining the last dregs of a cocktail through a straw. While you’re focused on that and his claws are constricting your nipples, something smooth, pointed and slippery butts against your pucker. It’s not his fingers - you can tell where each of them are from their razor-sharp tips - and just for a moment, you wonder if he’s invited someone else into your room. As the smooth, slick item pushes more insistently against you then slips inside, you realise what he’s done. It glides easily into you from its pointed tip, then widens and enlarges as it twists and squirms its way inside you. You take a hasty breath as the widest part of the top flange of his tail stretches your hole, then the pressure fades as it disappears inside you and you clench down around the thinner shaft. He hasn’t relented on any of the other things he is doing to you, and the pleasure from your breasts and crotch is building. His tail wriggles inside you, then pushes forward. You blanch. There are three of those damned flanges.

He feeds the second flared ridge into you with the same stretching and popping sensation, then he eases the third in and holds it at the widest point, twisting and turning it while his tongue undulates inside you. He then begins to plunge the triple-headed tip of his tail slowly in and out of your ass, twisting it around on each in-thrust. It feels incredible, but there’s just too much to focus on, and hot pleasure builds in your belly from each of the acts he’s committing on you while you’re held immobile at his whim. Presently, he withdraws his long tongue, whipping it against your soaked, swollen pussy lips in fast, uneven strokes that make you want to buck and squirm. He laughs at your distress, but you know the truth as well as he does: you asked for this. He gets to his feet, releasing your nipples with one final tweak, then catches and holds your gaze. As you wait with bated breath, he pushes his lower, ridged cock in past his tail where it holds your ass open at its widest point. Your cheeks burn. You’ve shied away from letting this one in the back door up to now. It’s much wider than the other, and a lot more of a challenge with all its many protrusions and ridges. He knows that. You know that. You also know you can stop him with a single word, but you absolutely don’t want to. The very idea of submitting to something you’ve been reluctant to attempt - while he has you in his power - is enough to make you cream your panties. If you were wearing any.

The first ridge stretches you wide; far wider than even the broadest part of his tail. You gasp and your eyes flutter at the strain. You want to clench your fingers, thrash your head against the pillows to work through the tension, but those actions are beyond your scope so you have to experience it in its every minute, torturous sensation. When he’s sure the head is seated, he slips his tail out through the enlarged entrance and grasps his other member, palming it and stroking his hand up and down the length while he looks at you. You love watching him touch himself, even more so when you know he’s getting turned on at the sight of you. Your heart is hammering now. You listen to the little wet noises as he brings his fist to the tip of his cockhead and your mouth actually waters. When all this is over you are definitely going to chow down on some demon dick. Kadarn must have missed that thought - he would never pass up the opportunity for a blowjob. He angles his hips so he can press the bulbous, shining head of his upper cock against your cleft, and despite its size, it slips straight past your waiting lips and he nudges the first few inches into you until his cocks align. He leans down over you, bringing his face close to yours. He’s intent on taking his time, which is fine by you. You definitely don’t want to rush letting that monster in the back door. 

Kadarn brushes a hand across your cheek, glassy claws scraping audibly across your skin. “ _Mine_.” A smile ghosts across your lips and little tingles of pleasure that have nothing to do with physical stimulation dance across your skin. “ _Mine to fuck_.” You groan aloud as he makes that clear; there’s nothing you want more than to be his to fuck. " _Mine to…_ ” He doesn’t finish his sentence because his lips are suddenly devouring yours as he kisses you long and deep, sliding the full length of his tongue into your mouth while the weight of his body presses your knees into your chest. Your sex is utterly exposed like this, fully open to his twin agents of pleasure and you try to imagine what it must look like down there. 

“ _Would you like to see?_ ” He caught _that_ thought. Jet-razor claws slide under the back of your head and he lifts it and your upper torso with it, angling you until you can see his cocks where they sit half-way embedded in you. Holy mother of fuck. They’re _enormous_. That’s not news, but you’ve never seen them like this, lined up with your body, half in, half out. It’s brought home to you then with sudden clarity just how much bigger than you he truly is. He may be only a foot and a half taller (you had a fun hour playing ‘let’s measure Kadarn’ the other day) but his body is an order of magnitude larger than yours. He’s wider, deeper, infinitely more muscular and his weight is enough to crush you into the mattress. And yes, you did measure his cocks, so you know full well how long they are in feet and inches. So the question remains - how the hell do they fit?

“ _I like having you like this.”_

You like having him any which way, but this is fast becoming your favourite. It turns out he wasn’t talking about positions, or number of body parts inserted into assorted orifices however, as you find out when he elaborates.

“ _Beautiful, naked and at my mercy_.”

His full weight is back on you now, crushing your pelvis into the bed beneath him. You really need to wriggle. With your motor functions inhibited, you’re prey to his every notion, and subject to his every movement. You can’t undulate your hips, match his motions, or hold him close. You can’t thrash your head, clench your fingers or wriggle your legs, and you’ve come to realise these are the very actions that allow you to release tension and deal with what he does to you.

Hang on! Did he say…? 

“Beautiful?”

His brows twitch and he responds to your query by raising his torso a smidgen and looking up and down the length of your body, tilting his head as though to say ‘Hell yes’.

He is still looking you right in the eyes as he guides his hips home. You can feel him invading your belly while your ass stretches around the flared, knobbly ridges of his other penis. He twists a little on the in-thrust and there’s just too much sensation. You give a strangled yelp. He twitches a brow at you. He doesn’t ask any direct questions but you know he’s querying whether you want him to release you. You let your eyebrows convey the message: not on your life! He pushes forward again, and you feel your ass being forced open around the huge bulge in his lower cock. Just for a nano-second you consider asking him to stop, then you’re past it and the last couple of inches of both his huge, pulsing rods coast home easily until his hip bones grind against your buttocks. 

“Jesusfuckingchrist…” Your only release valve now is your voice and you’re becoming increasingly vocal. To be fair, you do have many, many inches of demon cock crammed into every available space in your lower abdomen, so a little cursing is probably warranted.

“ _Mmmmmm…I love it when you blaspheme_.” His head hovers above you, dipping and biting at soft things from time to time: a lip, an earlobe, a throat. You can neither move to meet his lips nor turn your head to enable him better access to the things you want him to bite, and it is driving you _insane_.

 _“Not regretting your decision, I hope_?” he asks as he eases back out of you. 

Damnit! This is impossible! If you could move right now, you’d be grabbing his shoulders or his buttocks to guide the speed and angle of his withdrawal, but it’s all totally out of your control. You really don’t want him to stop though. He pulls out until just the heads remain inside you, and he moves them in little circles, teasing and pushing at your entrances until you actually growl at him to stop fucking around. Your eyes lock onto each other again and you watch the intense, elated expression on his face as he takes you. He fills you slowly, burying himself in your warmth, not relenting or letting up on the pressure until he’s buried to the root again. That jolt of lightning hits you in the chest just as he hilts himself in cunt and ass, and you hover on the verge of a climax, halting just on the brink, unable to move to tip yourself over, unable to change position to lessen the tension.

“Fuuuuuuuck…” 

“ _Personally, I’d prefer you were bucking, biting and scratching_ ,” he comments, ignoring your profanity. “ _But I can feel how much this pleases you_.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. It appears he is done tormenting you however, and his own desires are driving his actions now. He begins to thrust into you; slow, considerate movements that edge you past any discomfort and into mounting pleasure. You’ve only consented to taking both of his prodigious members once so far, but you’re really glad that this time, you’re facing him. One major benefit of letting him double penetrate you this way around is that you’ll get to see the look on his face when you milk both of his cocks to orgasm. Plus you can kiss. You still have control of your lips, tongue and jaw so whenever he comes in to taste you, you’re able to unload some of your inhibited tension and passion through lusty tongue action. It’s evidently having some effect on him too, and each time he disengages from one of your kisses, you can see he’s struggling to maintain control of himself. 

“Deeper…” You may not be able to grab onto his buttocks to encourage and steer him, but you can still tell him what you want. He rests a pair of hands against your cheeks while the other pair has your hips in a powerful grip. His chest is still pressing your legs against your body, and he obliges you with a more deliberate rocking motion, which becomes faster and more intense with every passing second until he reaches a steady but gruelling pace. He raises your upper body again so you can see what he’s doing to you. His cheek is pressed against yours, and his eyes draw yours down so you’re both able to observe the incredible sight below. His monster of a cock is slipping in and out of your tight ring, each flanged ridge widening and popping your ass as they drag in and out while his longer member rams home hard in your front passage, driving so damned deep you’re almost certain it’s penetrated your womb. 

You’ve lost the ability to even swear by now and the only sounds coming from your mouth are high, frantic burbles, forced out with every vicious thrust of his hips. He holds his forehead against yours as he grasps your head in his clawed hands and pounds you for all he is worth. His teeth are bared in a snarl, and his eyes are burning as a rams his monstrous cocks home again and again.

“ _Scream for me_.”

It’s the last comprehensible sentence you hear from him. Yet again, overwhelmed by the way your comparatively small body is gripping him, Kadarn loses control and slips into his own language, growling demonic profanities while he fucks the living daylights out of you. You have no idea what he’s saying but you’re pretty sure he’s not reciting the local bus timetable. 

His lower body is pumping relentlessly now, and his twin cocks are reaming your holes. With no warning of his change of position, he raises himself to his knees, your legs still thrown over his shoulders and he pounds his hips against yours, balls slamming against your ass with every stroke. His claws sink into your thighs where he holds them against his chest, while his other set of claws sink into the flesh of your hips. Both sets draw blood. You can’t hold onto anything, tense or push back, so you just have to deal with being pummelled by several hundred pounds of rampantly horny demon until at last he throws his head back, pushed past endurance by the sensation of your tight body clenching around his flesh and he _roars_. You’re watching his face as he tips over the edge. You’re with him every step of the way as his pleasure rips through him and steals that smutty composure that marks his usual attitude. It’s enough to trigger your own climax and you spiral up through your own release even as Kadarn finds his. The initial hit is like a punch to the gut. You can’t throw back your head, buck your hips, thrash on the pillow, grip the sheets - none of the things you would normally do during an orgasm, so it burns through your every nerve, seizing you like a toy boat caught in a river bore and hurling you along its course. 

“AAAHHH!” You oblige his last request with a drawn-out scream, the only release you can find from the orgasm that’s currently twisting through your lower body like a mini-tornado, sending every muscle into a delicious spasm while you can’t do a damned thing about it. It’s about this time that Kadarn’s black spunk starts to leak out around his still-plunging cocks and as he opens his eyes to look at you, your soul feels like it has been seared at its very core. You feel like something’s tearing you adrift from your physical form and you cry out in alarm. “Kad!”

His mental hold on you is gone instantly, and he falls forward onto you, pinning your legs down against your chest as he slams and squirms against your cunt and ass, filling you with every last drop he has to give with his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. The familiar delight of his demon semen washing against your innards steals your sanity for a while then, and long minutes tick past while you both try to regain control of your senses and your breathing. He’s still stretching you wide down below, and pulsing regularly as though he’s still spurting his black cum into your willing body. You wriggle a little beneath him until he lets your legs down from his shoulders, where they find their way around his waist. You pull him in for a kiss, now that you have full control of everything again, and you don’t let him up for air until you’re satisfied, by which time he is breathing hard again and his eyes are unfocused. You bite his lip playfully while his members twitch and soften inside you and you both settle into resting positions, while your hands explore each others’ faces from an intimate distance.

The candles burn down to the wick. The only light in your room now is from Kadarn’s eyes where they glow watchfully above you. You’re still joined with him, both at the hips and through your mental link. He hasn’t withdrawn, and is either unwilling or unable to do so. You’re unsure which it is, and in all honesty, you don’t give a blind flying fuck. He can stay there until the world ends as far as you’re concerned. 

And there’s the problem.

There’s the one thing that’s making this moment anything less than perfect. You’ve fallen for this multi-coloured Hell-spawned hornball in every conceivable way: physically, mentally, and emotionally, and it’s a double-edged sword. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this happy or this satisfied, but your remaining hours are running out fast and you still haven’t found a way to keep him. You’re trying to avoid thinking about your quandary, but it’s inevitable you’re going to have to deal with it in a matter of days. 

What the fuck are you going to do when he’s gone? 

\---

Kadarn sends everyone greetings from his home dimension for Hallowe’en. I’m pretty sure this would be his Tinder pic. And yes, he can see you watching him. :P 

https://exophile3d.tumblr.com/post/633524996884611072/happy-halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Kadarn shows off some of his other skills…. Eep.
> 
> This chapter took a lot longer than I’d planned. Sorry. I bashed out the bones of this smut scene on Tuesday, along with one for the next chapter, but when I sat down to actually write it all out, it got LONG. There were going to be two smut scenes in this one, so sorry for short changing everyone. More to come though!


	12. Demonic Ability #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kadarn shows off another ability, at your insistence. More smut ensues.

**Thursday 29th October 2020, 11am**

“ _If you're still looking for a way to banish me, you've left it a little late_.” 

You slam your Demons Field Guide book shut and shoot a guilty look at Kadarn where he leans against your doorframe with his arms folded. He couldn’t be further from the mark with his comment, and he knows that. Since your intimate moment a few nights ago, you’ve been using every spare second to research a way to remake or extend your deal, but so far, your sources have been about as much use as a chocolate teapot. You’ve scoured the reddit demon-banging pages, and re-read all the blogs on demonology and witchcraft you devoured for inspiration in the beginning, but none of them have any advice on how to keep a demon once you’ve summoned one. You’ve reluctantly accepted that this is probably because in ‘normal’ circumstances, they don’t roam naked around your house for six weeks, shagging you senseless at the slightest provocation. You also revisited the ‘how to make a hotline to the devil’ page that instigated the tomato sauce incident, but given Kadarn’s warning about it driving you insane and blinding you, you’re not all that keen to try it out. Besides, you’re out of oregano.

“Are you a kelpie? Or a poltergeist?” you ask. 

“ _Not the last time I looked_ ,” he replies, angling his gaze downwards and ‘accidentally’ drawing your attention to the resting pair of love-batons between his legs. 

“Well in that case, this book is going to be absolutely no use to me in getting rid of you,” you sigh. You rise from where you were perched on a dining-room chair and slot the book back onto your bookshelf. “It looks like I’m stuck with you,” you grin, throwing your arms around his neck and successfully diverting his attention from the book and your secret research.

“ _For a couple more days yet_ ,” he adds, staring down at you without inclining his head. “ _What little acts of outrage shall we commit today, y/n_?”

Your breath catches and your heart skips a beat at the pure burning lust that hits you through your mental connection with him. You take a moment to compose yourself before you respond. He’s horny as all Hell (and he’s not alone there), but he’s also just reminded you that your time together is finite. Your link with him has been growing stronger daily, and now you can not only sense his moods and needs, and know what he’s thinking without verbal exchanges, but there are moments when it feels like your entire being is linked with his, heart and soul, body and mind. It’s wonderful and terrible all at once, but right now you wish it didn’t work so well. Your panties were fresh on an hour ago.

When you don’t answer, he catches you under the chin with a hot, sharp-clawed hand and tilts your face towards him. “ _Hmmm_?”

He wants a response, but he’s shit out of luck. He’s definitely not going to get one while he’s stroking your chin and cheek with his black-glass claws and captivating your gaze with that ‘I’m going to fuck you till you can’t walk straight’ look. 

“Uhhh…” You have actually won accolades based on your grasp of the English language, but there’s not a person in the world who would believe that right now. You direct your eyes away from his face with some effort, then get sidetracked admiring the contours of his crimson chest, and the roiling play of black muscle and tendon in his arm as he adjusts his grip on you.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he commands. Your eyes flutter, and your gaze is drawn back up to meet his. Everything he is, everything he wants - which at this point is you, more you and only you - is laid bare through your link with him. It sends a wave of tingling pleasure through you from your hairline to your heels and you wobble on your feet until a couple of his arms seize you by the waist and hold you firmly against him. He’s definitely pleased to see you.

“Oh God…”

He chuckles and leans down to breathe against your ear. “ _Cry out to your deity if you must, y/n. He can’t save you from me_.”

Get a grip, girl! You really need to control yourself before you turn into a puddle of mush - you’ve not long mopped the kitchen floor. What was his question again?

“ _What sins shall we indulge_?” He reminds you helpfully. “ _What holy edicts shall we break_?” You’re practically dry-humping his thigh by now, lost to his predilection for heresy - and he wants suggestions. Somewhere within the little cocoon of pleasure and need that’s fogging your brain, an idea has been germinating for several days now. After the Proctor’s disastrous sales pitch, Kadarn downplayed his abilities, but hearing him speak so openly about them aroused your curiosity, and having experienced one - and had your mind blown in several different ways - you want to try another. Besides, for the last few days you’ve been wondering whether he’s ever used his power of influence on you. You know, to make you extra horny. 

Kadarn picks up on your mood and thoughts and tilts his horned head at you. “ _You have a request_.”

That mental link is at full strength today. No signal buffering, no downtime. “I want you to show me another of your demonic abilities,” you reply.

He waves the idea aside. “ _They are limited_.”

“Maybe, but you still have _magic powers_ ,” you taunt him, waggling your fingers like a holiday-camp magician. He watches you with an eyebrow raised until you lower your head, breaking the connection, and draw little circles on his warm, smooth chest. “You said you could influence your lovers.”

For a few moments, he stands and considers you. Your link with him suggests he’s trying to figure out why you want this. “ _You don’t need seducing_ ,” he replies eventually.

“You said you could suggest things. Make your influence felt through thoughts and dreams.” 

“ _You would not be able to distinguish my desires from yours_ ,” he argues. “ _What would be the point_?”

“To make me do something _naughty_.” You give him your best mix of shyness and cheekiness while looking at him from under your eyelashes, and you’re fairly sure at this point that Kadarn is going to take the bait. He’s already poking you in the belly. There’s more to this than just a bit of fun though: the science major - and concerned, soon-to-be ex-lover - in you wants to see if you can tell his thoughts from yours. If you can’t, then you can make yourself believe he has been influencing you, and you can be angry at him later for using you. It will be so much easier to deal with the loss of your demonic hornball if you know your feelings of affection for him are just the product of his wicked influence. Plan A is still to find a way to keep him around, but you’re a realist, and you know you also need to devise some sort of coping mechanism for the worst case scenario. 

“ _You really want to let me into your head? Do you have any idea what I could make you do_?” he asks.

You shrug and smile, biting your lip. You’ve worked out he likes that and his bemused expression fades to a stare that could melt lead.

“ _Don’t say I didn’t warn you_.”

You’re shivering in anticipation as he takes you by the hand and leads you into the lounge, where he stretches out on the couch. It’s one of the few items of furniture you splashed out on when you rented this place. It’s a huge corner sofa which, back in the days when you used to be able to have friends round, seated six people. Kadarn makes it look like it was made for a kids’ playhouse. He gestures to you to join him and you clamber onto the cushions between his legs and kneel facing him, heart pounding with nervous excitement.

For a moment, nothing happens. You’re just kneeling on the couch, admiring seven feet of delicious red-and-black demon-flesh, when you start to wonder _if his cocks are cold just lying there in the open. They’d be much warmer with your mouth around them_. You laugh out loud. That wasn’t subtle, and of course that _would_ be the first thing he’d do if he could influence your thoughts: he is male after all. _But they do look tasty_ , and you do love tasting them, especially what he dishes out at the end. The mere thought of the effect Kadarn’s mystic spunk has on you when you swallow it down is enough to start your juices flowing. You lean forward and take his members in your hands, alternating kisses and licks on each while he reclines with his upper arms tucked behind his head. He looks so damned smug - but then you’ve never seen a man look anything but when he’s about to get a hummer; and this lucky demon boy is about to get two.

You decide to lavish attention on the longer, smoother one first, if for no other reason than it’s on top. It’s at less than half mast, but even in that state, it’s larger than any human erection you’ve ever handled, and it pulses in your palm, warm and smooth and enticing. _You can’t wait to have it filling your mouth_ and you lower your head, letting the red-tipped glans slide past your teeth and onto your tongue. You savour the taste and admire the colour change as you inch forward, chasing down the steadily darkening shaft until it fades to black when you’ve taken it to the root. It’s not overly taxing at this stage, but you know he’s a grower, and before long it begins to throb with increased blood flow. It expands inside you sideways as well as lengthways, becoming more rigid and much, much longer with every pulse. It’s sowing the seeds of panic already, _but you just want to stay where you are while it grows inside your mouth, enveloped by your warm, wet lips_. You run your tongue along the underside for a while, but soon the enlarged size prohibits licking, and it immobilises your tongue, sliding forward until it’s butting against the back of your throat. You work hard to suppress your reflex while it pushes through, expanding into your esophagus until it lodges in place. You squirm … _but you love this_ … but you can’t breathe … _breathing is overrated_ …you could easily raise your head - he’s not physically stopping you, _but maybe you’ll wait just a little longer_. Just as your cheeks are reddening and your vision starting to blur at the edges, his mental hold is gone and you pull back, expelling the monster from your throat so you can breathe again, coughing and spluttering.

“Asshole.” You’re not really angry at him, but he was pushing your limits a little there.

“ _We can stop anytime you want_ ,” he responds with a smile that would put the devil himself to shame - but then again, he probably learned from the best. Meanwhile, he’s holding his now-erect cock out of the way and looking at you meaningfully. _You’ve been ignoring the other one. It must feel left out_. You give him a wry grin, swallow a few times and control your breathing, then lean forward and seize the wider, knobblier appendage that twitches against his thigh. You work your lips down the black, ridged shaft, more slowly this time given the challenges it poses. You have to open your jaw wider with each ridge you take, and you barely manage to stretch enough to take the bulge half way down - and it’s not even fully hard yet. _Nothing to worry about_. You finally reach the base and your mouth is uncomfortably full. The ridges rub against the roof of your mouth and it begins to expand almost immediately, pushing insistently into the back of your throat and curving around into your gullet. It’s pulsing rhythmically with his heartbeat and that bulge is putting a lot of pressure on your jaw. You jolt, rubbing your thighs together as you twist as though you want to raise your head, but you know _you’re not fooling anyone. This is making you really wet._ Your thighs are soaked. _You love having your throat filled like this_. It’s hard to breathe but you don’t want it to stop. 

You feel the couch dip under you as Kadarn changes position, twisting around a little so he can reach your lower torso. A huge, hot hand strokes over your buttock, squeezing, scratching, kneading. The warmth vanishes, then returns a second later with a resounding slap that makes your cheeks vibrate and your throat tighten for a second as you try to make a sound. You moan, drooling around his enormous, ridged cock where it’s embedded in your windpipe. His hand comes down hard a second time and you twitch, wriggling again as if to try to free yourself. In response to your fake bid for freedom, something slithers around your neck, wrapping and rewrapping, then pulling taut. His _tail_. You raise your eyes as best you can, to find him devouring you with his gaze. He’s _loving_ this. The coils slide, tightening against your neck and inching you closer to his body. Your nose is already close to his torso, but his coiled tail tugs you down until your lips press to the skin of his hips and his cock edges even further into your throat. His upper hands are still tucked nonchalantly behind his head while his tail assists his powers of suggestion in keeping him balls-deep in your throat. His lower set of hands have found and engaged with your bottom, and while one lands slaps against your stinging skin, the other begins to feed fingers into your slit, which by now is absolutely drenched.

While the tight coils of his tail secure your face against his groin, he begins to thrust with his hips. With each movement, you can feel the ridges of his cock abrade your throat against the constriction of his tail, filling you with a mix of arousal and fear, _but you can take a little more_. His fingers curl inside you, holding your butt like a bowling ball as he pulls his hand towards him, assisting his tail even further in keeping his cock embedded in your throat. _You love this_. You love having him crammed into your mouth; you love having his tail throttle you; you love the way his fingers have invaded you everywhere down below. As he drives his meaty, textured dick into your mouth again and again, the ridges catch on your teeth and each instroke is sweet torture as it forces your jaw wide.

Kadarn uses the three holds he has over you - his suggestion, his tail, and his hand in your cleft - to keep you bobbing up and down like a perpetual motion drinking bird until you sense he is approaching his peak. His breathing is ragged, his hips are thrusting in an urgent tempo and he’s started to make the little growling noises that often accompany his loss of control. He’s right on the brink - you can feel that intense anticipation through your link with him - when there is a flurry of movement, and his arms and tail combine to wrench his titanic member from your mouth and throat and hold you upright in front of him. You cough and gasp for breath as he hauls you aloft, your knees raised right up off the couch while his tail still circles your neck and his fingers still plumb your depths. He grasps his lower cock in his huge fist and he pumps hard and fast, finishing himself off while his gaze burns into your eyes. What he’s doing to you with his fingers and tail would have been enough to make you come, but watching him climax, feeling his shining black spunk jet from his monstrous ridged cock and splatter over your chest and neck, all while connected to him through your psychic link sends you tripping into another level of ecstasy.

Kadarn showers you with black rain that cascades in torrents over your skin, and a little of it lands on your lips, triggering the familiar ecstatic tingles. He covers you with his demonic seed, painting your chest and neck black, and you savour what you can from the droplets you can reach with your tongue, squirming at the taste and the waves of pleasure and arousal it triggers. You’re shaking all over as you look at your demonic lover with all the passion and need tasting his essence has aroused clear on your face. You must be quite a sight: chest heaving, red-faced from the unrelenting pressure of his tail around your neck, dripping wet, and covered in his cum. He evidently agrees, because he takes one look at you, throws you down on the couch and slams his upper cock home with no preamble, filling your tight, wet cunt to the brim. You are beyond caring. You need this - you need him - so badly, and he, sex-trooper that he is - never lets you down. He pounds you hard, black teeth bared against your cheek, growling like a wild animal and hammering you with absolutely no restraint. You wrap your legs around his waist for purchase and you know that neither of you are going to last long. His tail tightens around your throat until all hope of breath is gone and you thrash your head, digging your nails into the solid muscles of his shoulders and drumming your heels against his buttocks. You can feel his orgasm through the link as he arches his back, pummeling you into the couch with his hips, and it amplifies your own tenfold; you feel like you’ve just had his climax as well as yours. You can still taste him in your mouth as he drenches your insides, and that wonderfully pleasurable effect leaves you floating on a little cloud of delight long, long after he is done.

He drops his forehead to yours and you grip him by the ram horns, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as the pulsing fury of his lovemaking subsides into blissful satisfaction. Kadarn raises his head and for a while, you stare into each other’s eyes, where you admire the colour and structure of his irises for a moment, then pull back to consider his expression. For a fleeting instant, the connection is at full strength and everything he is feeling for you at that instant comes pouring through like an avalanche straight into your heart. Your breath catches in your throat and warmth spreads through every nerve in your body. You’ve never felt this desired: it feels like home. Like belonging. Like _love_.

Abruptly, the connection is terminated and he begins to pull away from you. You still have him by the horns and you hold firm, tugging at him until he reluctantly meets your gaze.

“Kadarn, I-” you break off almost immediately. You have no idea how to express to this Hell-born entity what you’re thinking and feeling. You have many, many words at your disposal, but none of them seems adequate for the pure gamut of emotions that are wracking you right now. The only sentiment you’re able to shape into words that even makes sense is that you don’t want him to go. In no way, shape or form are you ready to be separated from him, _but you don’t think now is the time to discuss it_. 

Busted! 

You give your lover an exasperated glare and thump his arm. “Asshole.” Well, that’s unfortunate, and it confirms what you had been thinking while he ‘encouraged’ you to use your mouth on him. You’d definitely know if he was interfering with your thoughts: they might as well be labelled ‘This Thought Belongs to Kadarn’ when they flit through your head. Bang goes plan B.

He gives a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and strokes a glassy claw across your cheek while the pad of his thumb ghosts against your lips. His hand moves lower, the razor tips drawing lines across the skin of your neck, and oddly, it relieves the ache caused by his tail throttling the air out of you. You twitch your brows in query.

“ _I am able to share some of my innate abilities with you through our bond_ ,” he explains. “ _I have no desire for you to suffer on my account_.” His fingers move across to the faint ring of white marks where his teeth sank in almost three weeks ago. It healed fast - and now you know why - but you also know those little scars will never fade. It’s knowledge that passed direct from him to you through thought alone and you don’t doubt it for a single second. You know it with the same certainty that you know the sun will rise, and that you’ll never get over losing him. 

He interrupts your thoughts before they can spiral into blackness, and says, “ _It’s also not easy for me to hide anything from you now_.” 

You infer the hidden warning embedded in his otherwise innocuous statement: the bond is two-way and you can’t hide anything from him either. He might even already know what you’re up to with your secret research. You’re prevented from worrying too much about that as he leans down and captures your lips for one of his deep, tongue-laden kisses. It sends forty thousand volts straight through your spine and into every secret happy place you have. It makes you want to flip him, clamber on top of him and ride him all the way to funtown, but that tiny, quiet, suppressed, sensible part of your brain knows you know you need time to recover, and besides, since he jumped on top of you, you’re both covered in sticky black demon cum. It’s past time for a shower, _and you do both love shower-time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the smut in this a week ago last Tuesday while I was feeling a bit feral. 0.o


	13. Hallowe’en

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... Angst…?

**Friday, 30th October, 11am**

You awaken cocooned in a multitude of demon arms and endless coils of tail, with a pair of suspect appendages jabbing you in the butt. With a little deft escapology, you manage to extract an arm from your demon-shaped straitjacket to check your phone, and your eyes widen at the time. You’ve just lost half the day - but then you probably shouldn’t have challenged a demonic entity to a game of truth or dare at 3 this morning. It was a losing battle from the outset: there’s nothing Kadarn wouldn’t dare to do, and very little truth he wants to share. You on the other hand were left completely at the mercy of his fertile, perverted mind when you refused to answer the incredibly personal questions he asked you. It’s the reason you were scraping candle-wax off your pubes at 4am.

When you’ve kick-started yourself with some tea and breakfast, your scientist brain decides to wake up for the first time in six weeks, grace you with the knowledge that you have a sentient being from another dimension in your home for a few more hours and send you into panic mode. There’s nothing like an imminent deadline to send your intellect into overdrive - every one of your college term papers is testament to that. You suspect it’s also doubling as another coping mechanism to divert your mind from the inevitable future that will become fact at 3am tomorrow. So you hurry back upstairs and for the next few hours, you pepper poor Kadarn with questions: is tarot real? How about voodoo? And what about past life regression? What happened in Tunguska in 1908? Am I going to Hell? Will I see you there? Or is Hell just another dimension and good and evil just human-centric states we project onto interdimensional beings in the hopes of explaining the duality of our own imperfect natures?

Initially as indulgent as ever, Kadarn stops answering your questions after the second full hour of questioning when it becomes clear there is no way you are going to exhaust your list. He is soon sitting beside you on your bed with his head in his hands while you launch into a lengthy monologue regarding your theories around the origins of good and evil in primitive animistic religions. At length, either out of desperation or natural libido, he decides to use his powers of persuasion to end the interrogation, and silences your questions with his lips. It may not give you the answers you are looking for, but it does sate certain other needs. 

**Saturday 31st October 2020, 01:00am**

After a full day’s activities, you relax on the bed with wine, candles and music, leaning against your demon lover’s chest while his hands caress you. You binged the Lavalantula films this evening, and while you both laughed until you almost lost control of bodily functions, your enjoyment was tempered by the relentless flow of sand in some otherworldly hourglass that you know is even now counting down Kadarn’s remaining seconds in this world. You flinch as his warm fingers circle your nipples, shying away from the sensitive tips, and you groan, arching up against his hands to encourage his touch. Your interaction earlier only stoked the inferno that has never truly died within you since the moment this seven-foot, horned sex-god walked into your life. You’ve been incredibly aroused ever since he used his tongue to shut you up this afternoon, and there’s a mounting desperation throbbing in your veins: you know your time is limited and the urge to rut is consuming your every thought. A single glance at your hellion companion is enough to know your need is reciprocated, and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before he’s inside you.

He pins you beneath him with his arms and hips, his longer, slimmer length buried in your slit. He’s in you to the hilt, but he’s still pushing, and it’s sending little currents of joy through your clit with every throb of his pulse. He’s not thrusting, not pounding, just holding you still while the sensations in your nethers intensify. His long tongue curls around yours, squeezing and pulling while his lips seal your mouth. Everything you have ever done with him plays through your head in fast-motion, and the memories of pleasure are enough, combined with what he’s doing to you right now, to bring you to the brink. You squeak from the tension where you lie squished beneath him and he slowly pulls his lips away, darting his tongue against your open mouth and smiling mischievously.

“ _You’re close_.”

His deep, amused tones make your skin tingle as readily as any caress and when he raises his head to observe you, his eyes are filled with a mix of wonder and wickedness. You give a couple of strained, high-pitched squeaks, hovering just on the edge of a climax that seems to have come out of nowhere. His grin widens and he holds your gaze. You feel the familiar intrusion of his thoughts into your head, amplified as he makes his desire known both by voice and mental edict. He exhales around a black-glass smile and says, “ _Come for me_.”

There is nothing in all the world that could have stopped that orgasm, not even if your dear old nan had walked in and dropped her knitting in horror when she found you fornicating with a demon. It tears through your every nerve and ripples through your crotch where his organ is embedded - motionless - in you, and you thrash and buck your way through it while he watches you in smug enjoyment of your helpless pleasure. When you’re starting to get your breathing back under control, Kadarn decides he wants to play 'let's see how many times I can make y/n come', and embarks on his mission with all the gravity and dedication of a codebreaker saving the world from fascism. Considering you've blacked out from pure pleasure a couple of times during your wild sexcapades, you don't trust him to keep count, but before you can protest or call foul play, you’re driven to a blinding climax at his suggestion once again, which is simultaneously embarrassing and electrifying. 

You thump at a massive tricep and call for a halt to proceedings before he melts your brain. “Kad! What the hell have you done to me?”   
  
“ _Nothing_ ,” he grins. The candle-flames are reflecting off his shining black fangs and it looks like a vision of the mouth of Hell. At your disbelieving scowl, he relents. “ _We were paired because of our compatibility_...” he breaks off as though regretting his choice of words, and strokes a sharp thumb-talon across your cheek. 

You tilt your head against his touch, revelling in the warmth of his hand on your skin, but his words have stoked your curiosity and you’re not about to let him leave his explanation half-finished. A dozen more questions surface in your mind, and they come out in a flood. You don’t know where your inner scientist has been hiding, but she’s here now, complete with clipboard and pen, determined to tick off items from her enormous list. “What’s with the psychic link, Kad? And what was happening the other night when you had me in thrall?” He avoids your gaze. “Truth now, demon.”

He scowls at you. He’s properly pissed - you can sense that through the link - and you silently praise every horror film and book you’ve ever consumed for giving you that one simple idea. You’ve used this command on him once before, but you hadn’t made the connection until now. If you’d realised previously that all you had to say was ‘tell me the truth’, you’d have used it far more often.

“ _When you petition the Dark Lord for a lover, you’re matched with a compatible partner, based on your desires and theirs_.” He speaks from where he still lies on top of you, holding your face in one pair of claws, while his other hands support him and keep him from squashing the life from you. “ _The link grows stronger with use. Had I been confined to the circle as intended, we would have interacted but a few times_.” You scoff. You’re really glad that didn’t happen. “ _It should never have become as strong as it is. This isn’t normal_.”

Amen to that. You’re currently having a conversation about dimension-spanning, devil-mandated love affairs with an extraplanar being while he’s balls-deep in you. “Nothing about this is normal,” you concur. “And what about the night you had me in thrall?” 

“ _I should not have subjected you to that for such an extended period_ ,” he admits, dropping his gaze. “ _I almost took your soul_.”

Your breath stops and you swear you can hear your own heart beating. He almost took your _soul_? You recall the sensation of being dragged out of your body and every muscle tenses as the fight or flight response kicks in. Maybe what you’ve been messing with hasn’t been so safe after all - you definitely didn’t write ‘Kadarn isn’t allowed to steal my soul’ into that damned contract. One to remember if you’re ever foolhardy enough to try the summoning again.

“What … uh … what would have happened?” You hardly dare ask the question, but you’ve come this far. You’re dealing with realities and potential eternal fates far beyond your reasoning here, and you need a reality check. Better late than never.

Kadarn swallows and smooths his thumb across your lips. “ _You would have been left soulless. Empty. Heartless_.” You know quite a few people like that and you’re already starting to wonder if certain prominent politicians have had their own run-ins with demonic lovers.

“ _I could feel the heat and light and joy from it_ ,” Kadarn continues. “ _It called to me like a siren’s song. I wanted it for myself_.”

You blush at his words, flattered despite the strangeness of what he’s describing, and feeling more attracted to him than ever. You adore everything about him, and there’s the rub: he’s an unholy, soul-stealing balance-demon from a Hell dimension, and he’s about to pack his suitcase. You trace your fingers around the ridges and valleys of muscle in his shoulders, with the one question you want to ask more than any other burning like a beacon in your mind’s eye.   
  
“What happens to you when this is over?”   
  
“ _I return whence I came_.” 

Your hand moves up over his neck, and you see his eyelids flutter and his lips part at your touch. You run your fingers along his jawline and you’re sure of it. You’re finally going to say what you’ve been wanting to say for weeks now. Do it. Go for broke. Moment of truth. What have you got to lose? 

“I don’t want you to go.”

Kadarn closes his eyes as though in pain and breathes out through his nose. “ _There’s nothing to be done, y/n. When my time is over, I will no longer be able to manifest here_.” 

“Can’t I just summon you back?” you ask. You can feel a lump in your throat and a reservoir of tears filling up somewhere behind your eyes. There’s only one answer you’ll be happy with, but you’re pretty sure you’re not going to get it. “Truth now.” Your voice already sounds thick and shaky.

He’s shaking his head as he replies, and you can feel his negation of your idea through the stupid link, but you still want to hear the words as they grind your hopes to dust. “ _If you were to try the summoning again, you’d be matched with whoever they assign. And given what has happened, they will not assign me_.”

You swallow against your mounting sadness. You already know what he’s referring to: he has done things he shouldn’t - holding you in thrall and tasting your blood - and been roundly punished for them. Plus he wasn’t supposed to get out of the circle, which you’re now imagining has caused all sorts of Hellish paperwork for that Proctor guy. You’ve no idea if it’s true, but it gives you a small measure of spiteful comfort to believe it. You’re going to need all the comfort you can get, if this plays out as it seems it will. How on earth are you going to be intimate with anyone ever again? How could anyone, human or otherwise hope to live up to the standard your Kadarn has set? There _must_ be a way!

“What … what if I ask for you by name?” Your voice is breaking and you feel the first tear leak out of the side of your eye. You brush at it in annoyance while Kadarn dispels the partner that escapes from the other side. He’s shaking his head again. Everything inside you is sinking.

“ _You can neither remember it nor write it down_ ,” he reminds you gently. 

You already know that’s true. You’ve tried noting it down as he says it aloud, but each time the paper spontaneously combusts, or the computer file corrupts, and the damn thing just won’t stay in your head, despite the mnemonics you’ve tried.  
  
“ _And even if you could transcribe it, your human tongue could never pronounce it accurately enough_.” He takes your head in his hands and holds your forehead against his. _"Let it go. There is nothing you can do, y/n. Just enjoy the time we have left."_  
  
The sinking feeling stops just before rock bottom. You feel utterly rejected. Kadarn doesn't seem the least bit bothered about his impending separation from you, but then again, he's probably done this a thousand times over, and next Tuesday he'll be off on his next sexcapade with some other lucky human. No remorse, no regrets. You pull back from him in every sense of the word, shutting him out, and shutting yourself off from the hurt. You scramble out from underneath him and sit up under the covers, pulling your knees up to your chest.  
  
"Fine then."   
  
He sighs, sounding both exasperated and sad. " _Y/n_ …"   
  
"If this is just a bit of fun, then let's treat it that way," you snipe.   
  
He kneels up on the bed next to you and tilts his head. “ _Would it make you feel any better if I said it meant more to me_?”   
  
“Much.” You snap. He gives you the Spock-brow. You sag. "Probably not." 

You sense turmoil and indecision through the link and you want - no, you _need_ \- to ask him about it. The feelings flee instantly from your inquisitive touch. “Do you _want_ to leave, Kad?”

“ _When my time is over, I have to go. It makes no difference what I want_.” 

“It makes a difference to _me_ ,” you insist.  
  
“ _What would you have me do_?” He’s past exasperation now and entering into confusion and irritation.  
  
“I don’t know!” you shout. “Fight. Be upset. Don’t just _give up_. Just show me…” You break off, swallowing treacherous tears. ”Show me you care.”

He raises all four of his hands. “ _How does that help either of us_?”  
  
“I’d know you felt something for me.” You fiddle with the blankets. “I’d just feel better if I thought there was more to this than sex, for you.” He remains silent, but you can sense the tension in him. You look him in the eye again and ask, “What do you normally do to show someone you like them?”   
  
“ _You don't want that_.”   
  
“I might.”   
  
“ _You want me to burn your enemies' homes to the ground while we fuck next to their open graves and drink blood from their skulls_?” 

“Uhhh…” Hello? _Demon_.

“ _I will never forget our time together_ ,” your apparent psychopath of a Hell-sent lover says, and there’s such conviction in his voice, backed up through your connection with him that you know it’s true. He pulls you close and strokes his claws around your brow and temples. It’s a weird experience: his embrace calms and soothes, and lights you up with desire while simultaneously reminding you that you’ll never have anything like this again. It’s too much to deal with and you tear yourself away from him and throw on a robe before marching off downstairs alone.

**Saturday, October 31st, 2:30 am**

Kadarn ducks through your lounge door and stands in front of you where you’re studiously ignoring him from your spot on the couch.

“Thought you might have gone by now,” you mutter.

“ _I must return from the same place you summoned me_ ,” he advises. You blink and glance over at the faded chalk outline on the floor, which you never did get around to cleaning off. You’ve had more important tasks on your hands for the last few weeks.

“Anything I can do to help you on your way?” Your entire being is seething with disappointment, rejection, fear and loneliness, and you’re expressing yourself really badly. You know that but you can’t seem to bring yourself to behave cordially.

“ _Set up the circle as you did before_ ,” he replies.

A thought flashes through your mind: what if you don’t? Will be be stuck here? His link with you puts paid to the idea immediately. _It will just make his passage back to his own realm more difficult and painful_. You deflate. You haul yourself off the couch, start gathering your candles and tat, and set up your Spotify for your Viking chanting songs. He watches you in silence as you arrange the items as you did that first night. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a grip on your emotions. It feels like everything is ending. Christmas is over. Time to take down the decorations and get ready for the reality of endless work for the next forty years of your life.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

He is silent. His eyes glow, lighting up part of his face but giving nothing away. 

“This is easy for you, isn’t it?” you snap. “You really don’t care.”

“ _Since there is so little time left, I no longer need to hide anything from you_.” He steps closer. Your heart speeds. Is this it? Will he tell you?  
  
He towers over you where you stand just at the edge of the circle, and growls out his response. “ _You really think I want to be trapped here in these shabby surroundings with a mortal_?” 

Your heart stops. Up is down. Black is white. Everything you’ve ever thought or felt for him is _wrong_.

“ _This was no more than an opportunity for me to use your body for my own pleasure. If you think this was anything more than that_ ,” he steps even closer, and your guts have turned to ice. “ _You’re dead wrong. You’ve given me everything I wanted, little idiot. And now I leave and I will take eternal enjoyment from knowing you’ll forever grieve for me. I will savour your pain even after your limited life span is ended_ ,” he adds with a sly smile.

His words cut you at your core. Tears sting your eyes and you feel like your heart is burning up inside your chest. Has everything you’ve ever had with him, everything you’ve felt for him just been a lie? 

_A lie._

A seed of surety is germinating in your chest, and as though a light-bulb (the old incandescent kind, not the energy-saving ones) has just come on in your head, you’ve suddenly never been so certain of any fact in your entire life. Kadarn is an actor _par excellence_. He has shown you that through his many voices and roleplays over the last six weeks, and he’s just pulled off the mother of all performances. 

“You’re _lying_.”

Everything sags: his shoulders, his arms, his posture, even his winkies look sad. He curses in his own tongue and you clap your hands over your ears. It’s not easy to hear his language and your skin crawls at the dissonant sounds. You can guess what he’s saying without hearing it or understanding it: he’s cursing the psychic link that’s betrayed him. It makes one thing abundantly clear though: he was trying to spare your feelings, make you hate him, make things easier for you when he is gone. It shows you more clearly than anything else he could have done (drinking blood from enemy skulls aside) that he is empathetic to your pain and he doesn’t want you to suffer. It’s _adorable_. And it’s the final straw.

You’re on him like a pouncing tigress, wrapping your arms and legs around his solid torso and shoulders and kissing him deeply. He staggers back under your surprise attack; he didn’t see that coming. You’re starting to perceive thoughts through the link now, clear as day; not just feelings but well-formed actual words, accompanied by a little background hum of pleasure. _Soft… sweet… warm… lovely… squishy…_

 _Squishy_?

Well, you suppose the bits he’s focused on now are squishy, to be fair. Your eyes are closed but you feel the movement as he steps forward into the circle you’ve made, sinking to his knees on the ground. His hands strip your robe from you and toss it aside while his lips and tongue are busy exploring yours. He tilts your upper body back and his hot mouth finds your nipple, encircling it with his dexterous tongue and tugging it into a hard point. You grip his shoulders for dear life as your head falls back, and you press your womanhood against his members where they emerge from between his thighs. He stops. You jerk your head upright. Are you out of time? He gathers you in his arms and turns you around so that you are seated on his lap, facing away from him. Holding a rigid dick in two of his fists, he raises you with his other arms and slowly impales you on his twin rods. You take in the longest breath you’ve ever taken while he lets gravity do its work, and he fills your core with throbbing demon-flesh.

When he is hilted, and your head is wobbling like a bobble-head doll, two of his hands reach for your nipples, one catches you below the chin to tilt your head back against his chest, while the other slides up your thigh until it engages with your outer lips. This is exactly how he held you that first night - except this time, he is physically here in all his hot, horny glory, and he is sunk deep inside you. He grinds slowly against your buttocks, lifting you from the ground with every gentle thrust while his hands roll your nipples and his fingers tease your clit. You turn to kiss him over your shoulder, holding on to one of his side horns, and his claw tightens ever so slightly on your throat. Your free hand moves to engage with his where he is stroking your cleft, guiding and encouraging his movements and you break the kiss to look him in the eyes again. His expression is unreadable; he looks neither happy nor sad, just intense. 

Out of all the times you’ve been together, and of all the mad positions and outlandish powers you’ve experimented with, this time means the most. This is how it all began, in candlelight on your lounge floor with his hands touching you everywhere, and it is the natural culmination of your relationship. 

“Nothing - ever felt this good,” you murmur between ragged breaths. 

Kadarn says nothing but his eyes speak volumes, as does your mental connection with him, which indicates your simple words are echoed in his thoughts. Finally, he speaks. 

“ _Mine_ ,” he growls. That one word heightens your pleasure tenfold and you groan aloud as his cocks slide easily in and out of your flesh, thrilling, filling with every stroke.

“ _Mine to please_.” He’s not wrong there, and you begin to buck and writhe on his lap at his words. He is everywhere inside you, filling you utterly. His strokes increase in vigor and speed until there’s lightning in your blood, fire in your heart and you know just one more word in his deep, rough voice against your ear will be enough to finish you. 

“ _Mine to love_.”

You are thrown into your climax, and you can feel Kadarn everywhere: buried to the hilt in your body, coursing through your veins, lighting up your mind and heart, and something inside you explodes and casts you adrift until you are floating on a sea of bliss. 

After an unknowable length of time, the sensations fade and you drift back through time and space to find yourself on your lounge floor with the refrain from Skald’s ‘Run’ playing in the background. You pitch forward on your hands and knees then curl around onto your side as your stomach begins to contract from the sobs that wrack your naked frame. You hug your knees to your chest as you lie alone in the cold, empty room and wonder if you’ll ever be able to stop crying again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be in my box fort hiding from the barrage of rotten tomatoes / mob with pitchforks.


	14. Loophole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze epilogue.

**8th November 2020**

There’s only so much the mind and heart can tolerate before they break.

The whole time you and Kadarn were together, you were either on your way to a screaming orgasm or laughing your tits off. He was good for your soul - even when he was trying to steal it, but now that he’s gone, you’re not sure you’ll ever be happy again. You consider asking ol’ Daddy Lucifer for another lover, but in your heart of hearts it would feel like cheating, and you’re really not sure you want to go through the loss again. Plus humans are out of the question because, you know, _pandemic_.

Initially you remain hopeful you’ll find a way back to Kadarn, but unsurprisingly enough, although there are any number of sites on demon summoning, and even more on exorcisms, there are none that cover ‘so you’ve summoned a demon, fallen in love and now he has to leave’ scenarios. The days drag past, and the house is echoingly silent. You miss your mischievous hunk of hornball more than you could possibly have imagined and every day is a full-on battle to maintain both your sanity and the will to carry on. It reaches a head when you realise you are spending more of your day on demon-summoning blogs than you are on your work, and your boss is not slow to notice. After all, thanks to Kadarn’s interference, she has some pretty high expectations of your performance. 

Before long, you start to neglect the necessities, like eating, sleeping and showering. Your food has lost its taste and you can’t even look at a donut any more; every time you step into the bath you see the evidence of your demon lover’s lust for you and it physically hurts; and what’s the point in sleeping when you have so much room in your bed? Eventually, you feel like you’re losing the few remaining shreds of sanity left to you, and before you can do anything harmful, you reluctantly check yourself into a facility.

**30th November 2020**

You emerge from the retreat into cool, crisp air, feeling lighter of spirit and quite straightened out not only about your ‘demon lover’, but a great many other things too. Best of all, you’re _certain_ there was no Kadarn. It was all a symptom of your attempts to deal with the world going to shit around you, coupled with intense loneliness and stress. You fabricated the entire thing in some sort of psychotic break, and now, thanks to many hours of counselling (and some seriously good news about the players on the world stage), you’re back to normal. Or as close as you ever get to it. On your way back into your house, you pick up your sodden clothes from the patio and shake your head in wonder. You yourself must have thrown these out of the window when you were pretending your ‘demon lover’ objected to you covering your nudity. You give a self-deprecating chuckle. How had the therapist termed it? Ah yes, you were ‘using physical props to enhance your own self-delusion.’ 

When you’ve given the house a good spring-clean after the six weeks you spent neglecting it while your sanity went on vacation, you dig out your phone and put it on to charge. They didn’t allow access to personal comms devices at the facility for fear you would read social media and trigger a relapse. When it has charged, you sit down at the dining table with a cup of tea and check your messages. There are quite a few voicemails and you start to work through them, finding concerned friends and family and a very confused donut delivery firm who must have got the wrong number. You delete it, and your phone announces in its little robot voice that the next message is from October 19th. When you’ve listened to it in its entirety, you hang up and slowly place the phone back down on the table. You stare at it like it’s just grown legs.

Up is down. Black is white. Hell is over the rainbow and you’ve just wasted five thousand pounds and three weeks of your life.

**3rd December 2020**

You spend the next few days pestering people on Reddit and various other less savoury sites to help you draft a new letter. Half of them call bullcrap, the others wish you well and give what help they can. You promise to share the results of what you’ve found with them - and fortunately for them, with the methods all written up and documented like a science experiment, they should have few problems in raising their own sex-crazed hellions. When you’re as sure as you can be that what you’ve written is watertight, you return once more to your lounge.

You’ve drawn around twenty pictures of him and written his Earth-given name all over a sheet of paper, and you place them all inside the circle with your new contract. As a final touch, you place your phone on the floor, already paused at the point in the recording where the Proctor speaks Kadarn’s true name aloud. You’ve never been so happy to find a butt-dialled voice message in your entire life, plus you already have a plan B, just in case. Humans may not be able to write down and repeat a demon’s name, but it would appear Old Scratch hasn’t quite caught up with modern tech yet, and you’re planning to furnish him with information about the loophole you’ve found provided he gives Kadarn back to you. 

_Quid Pro Quo._

But first, time to execute Plan A.

Candles? Check. 

Assorted magic store bric-a-brac? Check. 

Moody tribal chanting? Check. 

You strip naked and kneel down in the circle, ready to raise a very specific demon, and your entire body is electrified with anticipation. With your eyes turned towards the ceiling, humming innocently to yourself, you smudge your toe across the chalk outline, and press play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh come on, you didn't think I was that mean, did you? ;)


	15. Notes and Credits

Sorry for the tease there! Anyone who’s read my other long-form stories would know I’m not mean enough to leave this as an unhappy ending. I prefer to leave it as a ‘probably happy ending’ and it’s up to you, the reader as to what you imagine happens next.

I wrote the main twist in a few chapters back, then when re-reading the story, I realised I’d accidentally added another plot point that I could have used. The ‘contract’ stated ‘for a period of *not less than* six weeks’. So it could have been more. But I preferred to use the butt-dialling plot point. Bums are funny.

——

This story started out as a single, very rude smut scene that I wrote when in one of those ‘full of feral energy’ moods. My outline for it went something like ‘horny > summon a demon > [tons of smut with DP and tentacles] > maybe write like a science experiment?’ and here we are 45K words later with something I never planned to write in the first place! Some of the chapters started from single notes, so chapter 9, where the reader finally gets some double action, started with the word ‘somnophilia’. XD

I’ve drawn from a lot of personal experience for this one. I mean not actually summoning a demon, obvs, but the blogs and pages and accounts I mentioned a few times in the story do actually exist, and there are sites out there that instruct you how to choose and summon a demon lover. I’ve also seen all the films mentioned in the story, I own the books, and I’ve eaten the all the Space Raiders. Nom.

Thanks to everyone who liked, subscribed and stayed along for the journey, but extra-special thanks to Donut (without you, Kad wouldn’t like donuts!), Gray, Rhiella, Elven_Queen, Spicy_Chai, Frogonalog, RoseJay, Sercharlee and Nimio. Your frequent bits of encouragement and feedback really kept this alive (like really!). 

—-

*Kadarn’s Name*  
I took the name from the Welsh ‘Cadarn’, which means ‘strong’. I had an interesting little trip the other night when I found a site with sound files that show you what the word would sound like when pronounced in different local accents. I always hear it one way in my head (because I speak Welsh so I know how the word should sound), but having listened to those files, I realise you probably pronounce it differently depending on your location. I’ve also been saying it out loud a few times recently for my own amusement, but so far, no 7-foot smut demons have turned up. :(

*Kadarn’s look*  
It mostly formed itself, but it was definitely influenced by these two: Peloquin and the Red Orc

**Kadarn Mood Board**

Made a Kadarn moodboard to celebrate finishing this fic The two pics below him are Peloquin from Clive Barker’s 'Nightbreed' (Cabal), and ‘Red Orc’ by Choi Yongjae, both of whom were physical influences on Kad’s appearance.


	16. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely smutty demon-fanciers! 
> 
> I’ve already mentioned to a few of you that there would be a bonus chapter to come, and here it is. :) 
> 
> I wanted to write this from Kadarn’s point of view, to give a bit of balance and show the reader what he’s actually thinking. Oo-er. I decided to write this in a different person / tense for that very reason, so it reads a little differently to the rest of the story, but I hope it’s not too jarring. Also, sorry this took so long. I’ve been a bit distracted, and wasn’t quite sure how to write the smut in this one for a while. But after a bit of research, I got there. I hope it works!
> 
> I’ve also created a ‘Donuts for Demons’ Ko-Fi, so if you would like to gift Kad with a donut, please feel free. :D
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/bearbane

The air above the River Phlegethon was dark with smoke and blood-haze. The bloody waters boiled and flamed, keeping murderers and tyrants sealed within their depths and incinerating them perpetually throughout eternity. The smog made inverted rainbows against the crimson skies and the evening was alive with the sounds of tortured souls in agony; it was a Hellish beauty spot. It was also a place Kadarn frequented more and more these days, since his unceremonious ejection from the mortal plane. At the banks of the flaming torrent, he found solace and peace, the screams of the damned reminding him that at least some souls in the universe suffered more pain than him.

Kadarn lifted a small rock from the hot earth and tossed it in his hand, squeezing it against his flesh until the sharp edges drew blood. He scowled at the damage then hurled the stone into the conflagration and listened as some sinner caught it upside the head, yelling indignantly at the unprovoked blow. He looked down at his bloody hand and clenched his fingers into a fist as the wounds closed and the flow ceased. It was a transient pain, not enough to blot out the heartache that ravaged him every waking hour, and for the first time in his long life, the balance-demon finally felt as though he were in Hell. He had downplayed his own desperate longing when he was leaving Earth to try to spare y/n’s feelings, but the truth was he wanted with every shred of his soul to be back in that tiny mortal abode, joined with his lover both mentally and physically. But he was denied that, and it hurt. It was almost enough to make him regret the six weeks he had spent on Earth. 

Almost. 

When he had found out he was trapped on the mortal plane for that extended length of time, he had viewed the excursion as an opportunity to clear his mind and free it for fresh pursuits, while engaging in some energetic sex. But his mortal, his y/n had ensorcelled him with her energy, her sensuality and her love and when his time came, he would have forsaken his very immortality to be able to stay. He groaned inwardly as the memories surfaced with renewed strength, bringing fresh waves of torment. He recalled the soft, sensual curves of her body, held tight in passion against him, and the heady waves of her excitement and arousal that were relayed through the increasing strength of the mental bond that should never have been. But instead it had grown stronger, and brought home to him with increasing clarity how closely aligned they were in their passions and desires - and their tastes in humourous and gory plays. At the end, however, there had been no choice but to leave, and abandon the best chance Kadarn felt he had ever had at true happiness.

Ultimately, what he had told y/n was true: he could not return to her. After all, had she not forced the truth from him? He chuckled as he recalled it. She had stumbled upon that means of exerting true power over him, and yet she had not used it except when she felt a real need, preferring instead to base their relationship on trust. He admired that. Another mortal might have used that power to drag all the secrets of Hell from him, but y/n had used it only to find out about the bond and his powers, and to ascertain why he didn’t have his hands all over her the second time they met. While not one for submission to another’s will, at that particular moment in time, Kadarn would have done anything to have her hold him to the truth once more; to submit to her questioning, even in regard to all the banal ‘supernatural’ phenomena about which she evinced such a powerful curiosity, or even to let her drag from him the truth about his feelings for her. 

The demon sighed and shook his head. There was no sense in wishful thinking. Their fates were sealed, and it was better for y/n that she endure this small amount of pain now, and then go on with her mortal life and forget him. What future could there possibly have been for the two of them anyway? Kadarn knew of but a handful of his kind who had successfully pursued enduring relationships with mortals, and at least two of them were long enough ago to have been nothing more than myth. One success story entailed the demon transforming into a mortal and living out a tiny span of years on the earthly plane before being consigned to oblivion; the other told of a demon who transformed his mortal lover into demon-kin and brought him to live in the Hell-dimension Kadarn knew as home. Even if such transformations were not the stuff of legend, it would be unfair to ask y/n to give up her life and her nature, and he could not even bring himself to imagine what her reaction would be if he presented himself to her in human form.   
  
A crunch of booted feet on the scorched ground roused him from his morose thoughts and Kadarn turned to see the Proctor striding towards him, hands behind him, head tilted back as though enjoying the acrid air.

“ _Fuck off, asshat_.” Kadarn was extremely fond of the new insult he had gleaned from his recent sojourn on Earth. It described someone who was at once a posterior, and an item of headgear. Or perhaps a hat that fit on an arse. Either way, it was both amusing and insulting, a combination that he found quite appealing, and it suited the irritating Proctor down to the ground.

“Why so confrontational, demon?” asked the mouth on legs.

“ _You nearly ruined my holiday_ ,” growled Kadarn. And he would have done too, had y/n not told the Proctor, in no uncertain terms, where to go and what to do with himself when he got there. Kadarn chuckled to himself at the memory. He wasn’t sure he had ever admired her more than he had at that moment. 

Dozens of teeth chittered. “I have a match for you.”

Kadarn scowled at him. “ _I’m not doing that any more_.” He had no desire to be paired with some random mortal. How could anyone compare with what he had lost? The Proctor’s words triggered associations and he surrendered for a moment to visions of warm, welcoming lips, soft yielding flesh and hours of riotous laughter that had been good for his soul. He had already confirmed he was no longer available to be requested, but he would go and reinforce that message straight away with the appropriate bureaucrats. Hell had a surfeit of them. He rose and dusted himself off.

“You’ve been requested by name,” came the insistent response. 

Kadarn tilted his head and looked sidelong at the Proctor’s glistening red maw. “ _What_?”

The demon snatched the vellum from the proctor’s hand and scanned the contents of the text. His eyes widened and his jaw hung slack as the full implications of the letter were revealed to him. _She did it._ She found a way. Not only that but she had evidently spent a lot of time crafting this new contract, and it read as an open invitation that gave him the ability to come and go as he pleased. There were a few other clauses that were influenced by incidents that had occurred during their time together that she would prefer not to repeat, and he chuckled to himself as he reached the end, muttering, “ _Clever girl_.”

Filled with renewed hope and enthusiasm, he slapped the Proctor on the back and strode off to find the nearest portal to Earth. Behind him, the Proctor’s arms pinwheeled and he tumbled headfirst into the flaming river of blood from the force of the demon’s blow. Kadarn glanced back at the splash and threw his head back to laugh: this day was just getting better! Energy surged through him, along with a wild joy that made his feet light and he picked up the pace until he was running at full speed. His feet pounded the scorched earth, his claws giving him purchase, and his muscles burning pleasantly from the exertion. He felt tireless, fuelled by excitement, hunger and anticipation, and he kept up the speed until he rounded a corner in the canyon that led to the portal and slammed straight into another demon. Kadarn shook himself off and took a step back. He curled his lip at the creature that had dared block his path back to y/n and made to go around him.

“Hey! Get in line!” groused the shapeless mass of tentacles.

“ _In line_?” demanded Kadarn. “ _What is this_?”

“The queue for the portal,” explained Tentacles, as though to a very obtuse child.

“ _The what_?” Kadarn stepped out to one side and soon saw that the canyon wall was lined with demons of assorted shapes and sizes, snaking away into the distance where the portal beckoned in a spire of purple light, pointing straight to the heavens.

“We’ve all been summoned to the mortal plane,” explained a demon with the head of a bull and the tail of a viper. 

“ _For what_?” demanded Kadarn, more perplexed than ever. 

“For _sex_! What do you think?” The writhing mass of tentacles looked at him as though he were an imbecile, although Kadarn wasn’t quite sure how it accomplished that, given that it had no eyes, nor a body to express body language.

Grumbling aloud, Kadarn took his place behind Tentacles and soon fell into conversation with a fairly human-looking entity with great feathered wings and a single horn in the centre of his forehead. After a few moments’ discussion, it became apparent that someone on Earth had finally nailed the intricacies of the summoning ritual, shared it via the cursed internet, and now everyone in the know wanted their own sex demon. Rumour had it that Lucifer himself had been tapped, although accounts varied as to whether or not he had responded. Kadarn shook his head in awe at the modern marvel that allowed humans to share ideas and collaborate while separated by hundreds - or even thousands - of miles. He also wondered, not for the first time, which trickster god had put this incredible power in their hands while ensuring they used it for little more mind-blowing than swapping pictures of cats.

An eternity later, Kadarn was finally standing back in the tiny room where he had spent so much time, and it triggered a powerful sense of familiarity and many fond memories. He glanced around the dark, empty space, from the soft day-bed where he had painted her with his seed and driven her to endless orgasms, to the wall where he had hammered her while pretending to be some villain she liked, and finally down at the ground to the circle where it had all begun. It felt like coming home. Of y/n there was no sign, however. He had been delayed for several hours in the queue for the portal, so he assumed she had lost hope in her ingenious summoning experiment and gone to bed. Kadarn grinned. All the better for him to plan some mischief. It would take no small amount of concentration to conceal himself from her physically, and keep their mental link closed off, but he could sustain it for a few hours at least.

He ascended the staircase, avoiding the creaking boards to keep his presence a secret, and stole into her room. She was, as he had suspected, fast asleep, a box of donuts on the pillow beside her. He could not prevent the smile that stole across his features at that. He had sensed her frustration at not being able to see to the physiological needs she would expect from a human friend or lover, and he fully appreciated her bestowing upon him the few edible gifts he occasionally craved. He lowered a hand and stroked it across her cheek, brushing strands of hair aside. Mischievous thoughts flooded his mind. Y/n had told him on more than one occasion how much she had enjoyed him using his influence on her, but to date he had never done so in her dreams. Pressing his thumb lightly against her forehead, he thought about the night he had woken her from her sleep to claim her for the first time, running through the scenario in slow, intense detail. He remembered sliding his fingers into her ass, and chasing them with his cock; he envisioned the way her tight, hot passages had squeezed and massaged his rods; and he imagined and re-experienced the absolute feral joy of fucking her to climax with both of his members.

She stirred as his memories reached a crescendo, and he pulled back from her as she blinked awake. He closed off the link as securely as he could, hoping she would not perceive him: he had hidden his physical form from her, but their bond was strong. He held his breath, but she did not glance in his direction, only sighed gently then took a steadying breath. The covers rustled. Kadarn watched fascinated as her limbs moved and she began to pleasure herself under the voluminous piles of quilt. The demon swallowed hard, jaw slack, breath gone. He had not expected this. In a daring move, the opened the link for a fraction of a second and implanted a suggestion in her sleep-slowed mind. A moment later, the covers were gone and she was sliding her pyjama trousers and underwear down her thighs. Kadarn silently thanked the Dark Lord for his night vision. As he watched, y/n slid her fingers inside herself and moaned gently, taking a deep shuddering breath. Another hand wandered to her breast and he watched, mesmerised as she began to finger herself, wishing with all his heart that her hands were his. His own hands wandered to his stiff members and he ran them up and down his lengths in time with her motions until it became clear she was about to come. He watched entranced, noting how she touched herself for future reference and stilled his own pumping fists as she arced her back and shuddered quietly through her orgasm. Much as he wanted to follow her into bliss, he preferred to save his own release for later, when he intended to spill every last drop of the load he had saved up inside her. 

It almost happened sooner than he had planned. As she pulled the covers back over herself and settled back to sleep, she whispered into the darkness, “I wish you were here, Kad. What did I do wrong?”

Kadarn was a gnat’s whisker away from throwing back the covers, diving into the bed and smothering y/n with kisses as a precursor to other, more energetic activities, but he marshalled himself and forced himself to leave the room. Closing the door quietly, he trotted off downstairs to play some pranks.

The following morning, Kadarn watched y/n from the couch as she went about her morning routine. It was not long before she discovered the worm-filled apples and the curdled milk, but he kept quiet when she called his name: he wanted to tease her for a while longer yet. He followed her upstairs to the shower, admiring her wet nakedness and grinning when he saw she had not yet repaired the damage he had done to the tiles. She was already a little spooked, however, constantly glancing over her shoulder and waving an arm around in front of her as she entered a room. When she returned downstairs to make herself some lunch, he laid his tail on the floor in front of her toes, sending her tripping a few steps into the kitchen. She whirled, eyes wide, angry now rather than afraid. 

“KADARN! Show yourself, you demonic asshat!” 

Kadarn could barely suppress his laughter. If she could only see him, seven foot of horned demon-muscle with two of his hands clapped over his lips to try to stop the guffaw he was desperate to make, she would collapse too. He did so love watching her lose control, either with laughter at his antics, or when he ravished her. His thirst for mischief was not slaked yet though, and he forced himself into some semblance of control.

 _“I am not your Kadarn_ ,” he growled, changing the timbre and pitch of his voice and using one of his basic demonic powers to project it to another part of the room.

Her head snapped to her left, alarm stealing her annoyance. She swore quietly. “Then who-?”

“ _You opened the floodgates, foolish mortal_.” Kadarn could hardly keep a grip on himself. He was really close to giving into his amusement and rolling on the ground laughing. “ _Now any of the demon pantheon have an open invitation into your world._ ”

“…Shit.”

Y/n made a break for it and Kadarn followed her noisily, slamming his feet down and banging his fists against the wall as he ran. He watched her cute little bottom bounce as she legged it up the stairs, squealing ‘fuckfuckfuck’ with every step. His grin widened. He stormed into the bedroom to find her frantically thumbing through a new book on demon exorcisms and he grabbed it from her, tossing it melodramatically out of the door.

“I have information!” she said, flattening herself against the wall and looking worriedly all around the room. “Information your boss will find really interesting!”

“ _You have already shared secret knowledge with the world of mortals. Have you any idea what chaos your machinations have caused in the underworld_?” To be fair, that queue _was_ long. “ _If you have other information, give it to me. I might forget I found you_.”

Her panicked eyes swivelled towards him, alerted to his footsteps where he was edging around the bed. She tensed, and a second later she was throwing herself across the mattress to try to reach the door. Kadarn pounced at the same time and grabbed her with all four arms, pinning her beneath him. He flipped her struggling form over and eased his legs between hers, but y/n was getting a little frantic now, held as she was beneath an invisible, unknown force, so he relented. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her soft lips. She squeaked and kept her mouth closed, and he dropped his glamour with no small sense of relief. Her eyes were already wide open when he revealed himself and she blinked rapidly at the sight of him, while at the same time, he reopened the link so that she could feel him. 

Kadarn was unprepared for what hit him through their connection. An immense wave of relief, pent-up worry and frustration, excitement, annoyance and pure adrenaline-fuelled lust smacked him in the chest and he jolted. Recovering fast, he licked at her lips until she apparently accepted the evidence of her senses and opened her mouth to him. _Hellgods_. That moment where she ceased her struggle and yielded to him sent his emotions into a frenzy and a surge of blood to his loins. Seconds later, his midriff was seized in a death-grip as her legs corralled him and her eager body began to writhe and undulate beneath his. His eyes slipped closed as he relaxed into her embrace. Certain incontrovertible truths established themselves in Kadarn’s mind then. He had been right: she was _his_. His to fuck, and his to love. He broke the kiss as her hands tugged at his shoulders and with some effort, he raised his head, consumed by burning need and counting the seconds until he could seize her lips again.

“You utter bastard!” she yelled, thumping his shoulder in fury. Kadarn laughed aloud at her response, relishing her fire and strength of spirit. “How long have you been here?”

“ _Long enough to amuse myself_ ,” replied Kadarn. “ _And to watch you amuse yourself_.”

Her mouth dropped open in indignation, but it soon faded. “You’re here,” she affirmed. “You’re really here.” Her expression betrayed a mix of happiness and relief, the false anger fading. A couple of sparkling tears rimmed the corners of her eyes.

“ _You’re observant_ ,” he teased, and earned another thump on the arm in reward.

“I thought… I thought the spell had failed.”

“ _Oh no, it worked. It worked all too well_.” He curled his tail around her ankle as he recounted the tale of his journey back to her world, and his interminable wait to reach the portal.

“That reddit forum’s going to be quiet for a while then,” she chuckled to herself. Her hands explored his face, stroking across his cheeks and brow ridges, then danced down to play across his lips, where he nipped at them with a mock-growl. 

“ _So, what is this information with which you were going to buy your freedom_?” he asked.

“Well I’m not going to tell you _now_ , am I? I’m not scared of _you_ ,” she grinned, grabbing one of his horns and tugging at it playfully.

“ _Maybe you should be_ ,” Kadarn suggested.

“Oh yeah? Should I be afraid of the big scary demon?” she taunted, giving him her cheekiest smile, the one that usually precipitated a pounding of legendary proportions on his part.

“ _Do you have any idea what I could do to you_?” he asked, bringing his head close to hers and giving her his best ‘I’m going to eat you alive then swallow your soul’ grin.

“I have a good idea what you _can’t_ do,” she reminded him. “I wrote the contract, remember?”

While that was true, it still left almost limitless possibilities, and he let her feel the truth of that through their bond. Y/n swallowed hard.

Leaving that slightly unsettling thought to germinate in her mind, Kadarn shredded her clothing and tossed the scraps aside in irritation until they were skin to skin, then buried his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent and revelling in it. Through the link and her physical reactions, he discerned a feeling of uncertainty, and under it, nervous excitement. _What would he do_? He smiled inwardly and decided to keep her in suspense for a while. He pinned her slender wrists above her head under one of his much larger hands; he tangled its partner in her hair, sent another questing between her thighs and let the fourth wander across her flesh, stroking, scratching and squeezing as the mood took him. He sought her mouth with his and slipped his tongue inside, reaching for hers and squeezing it tight.

Such was the demon’s excitement after several long weeks apart that he lost no time in sheathing himself in his lover’s welcoming warmth and showing her exactly how he felt. His lovemaking was relentless. He wanted nothing more than to hold her down and fuck her for hours, and it appeared y/n could not have been happier with his plans. Through it all, she moaned in ecstasy beneath him, thrashing her head on the bedcovers, breathlessly teetering just on the edge of orgasm, only to have him pull back and tease her again. He alternated between the longer of his cocks, which hit something deep inside her with every slow, sure stroke, and the ridged one that stretched her wide and caused all sorts of excitement when its textured surface ground against her most sensitive spots either inside or out. 

At first she was frustrated at his antics, and made her annoyance known with humoured insults. “Kad! Stop fucking around and bone me properly, you pain in the ass!”

As time went on and he continued to deny her, she began to buck and strain against his hold with more conviction, groaning in need. “Kad, come on. Don’t you want this?”

Until at last, when he had edged her for the thirteenth time, she finally said the words they both knew would make him relent. “Kad, _please_ …”

“ _What do you want_?” he asked immediately. He knew full well what she wanted. He could feel it through their connection, through her skittering heartbeat, and in the throb of her pulse. He just wanted to hear her say it, and show him how much she needed what he had to give her; what he was _going_ to give her, no matter what. It just drove him _wild_ to hear her ask for it.

She swore quietly and even had the presence of mind to roll her eyes at him, despite her desperation. “Please, make me come.” 

No force in heaven or hell could have stopped him then. He withdrew his thick, ridged cock and grasped both his members together in one hand, both slick with her juices and sliding against one another in his grip. He tilted her face towards him, holding her misted gaze with his own burning one, and pressed both cockheads against her slippery entrance. 

“Kad!” Her face was flushed with need, glowing with perspiration, but her eyes grew round and wide as she realised what he intended.

He undulated his hips, sliding the glossy tips of each of his cocks against her. Satan’s beard, she was _gushing_ for him. He groaned, almost insane with desire, shivers of anticipation racing up his spine. The very thought that y/n was _this_ wet for him, this excited by his mere presence and the knowledge of what he was going to do to her hardened his cocks almost to the point of pain. He had to have her, but more, his mind was focused on a single purpose: tonight he needed her to take all of his seed. While they couldn’t actually interbreed, the mere notion of filling her pussy with every last drop of cum he had to give was addling his thoughts.

“Kad wait…” Her voice sounded far away. He pressed the twin heads against her, watching her closely for any indication of pain, then pushed a little harder until both slipped into her. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck…”

The world swam back into focus through the haze of his lust, and he could feel everything y/n was experiencing through the bond. There was mild fear at first then spiking arousal, enhanced by the knowledge that this was _naughty_. And _dark gods_ she was tight! He eased himself forwards until she squealed and he halted, ready to withdraw if needs be. She shook her head, frantic for him to continue. Kadarn was losing his mind from the intensity, and he could see that y/n’s mouth was slack, with the tiniest trickle of drool emerging as the sensations stole rational thought. With raw need in her eyes and a jerky nod of her head, she urged him to enter her. The link told him she was loving the way he stretched her so intensely, just at the edge of comfort, but with a heated pleasure that was growing with each inch he sank into her. He moved slowly within her, throwing his head back as both his hard lengths were constricted in her hot channel while his lover moaned and closed her eyes, lost in sinful, edgy delight. Kadarn finally eased himself home, bottoming out deep within her, and he nearly lost it. He took several short, sharp breaths to get himself back under control, but there was so much pressure and so much wet heat - and he had been desperate to fuck her for weeks - that he actually had to think of something non-sexual to stop himself from finishing their union prematurely. He would never - ever - forgive himself if he came before she did. With an image of the Proctor in pink nylons doing an admirable job in keeping the wolf from the door, he resumed his task. 

Kadarn leaned a little harder on his lover’s hands where he still held them above her head and slowly ground his hips against her, relishing the little squeals of excitement that issued from her lips.

“ _Tell me how it feels_ ,” he demanded.

She murmured a response he was almost certain did not contain any intelligible words, and he took a firmer grip everywhere he was holding her. “ _Tell me_.”

“Uhhhh… good… big… full… hot…” she muttered on an in-breath.

Kadarn smiled and eased himself in and out of her steadily. “ _I missed you_.”

“I… I m- I-uh… _oh_!”

Y/n dissolved. There was nothing in her eyes now but a glaze of ecstasy and he had once again robbed her of the power of speech. He moved his hands to squeeze her nipples and caress her gorgeous breasts as he quickened his strokes. _Hellgods_ this felt amazing! Much as he loved burying one cock in her tight little cunt and using the other to ream her ass, having them both hilted in her where his cum could fill her womanhood was beyond anything he had expected. He might not be able to breed her, but that fact made him no less keen to pump her full of his black seed and to coat her insides in darkness. He knew from experience just how much it pleased her when he came inside her, and how much she loved hearing his voice in her ear when she was close, to coax her over the finish line and enhance her pleasure. And Kadarn was definitely in the mood to please.

“ _Mine_ ,” he growled against her ear. He poured every ounce of possessive lust he was feeling into that one word and opened his being to it through the link.

“Yes...” Her breathing sounded like screaming. She bucked under him and wrenched at her arms to free them but he held firm. He was going to take her just as he pleased, and she was going to _love_ it. They both knew that, just as they both knew how disappointed she would be if he actually let her go. She gripped him ever so tightly now, but her channel was so slick and yielding that he knew could fuck her as hard as he liked with both his cocks rammed into her exquisitely tight passage with no danger of hurting her. The sheets beneath his thighs were soaked and it filled him with elation to know he had caused that flood. 

“ _Come for me, y/n_ ,” he ordered as he pounded her with all his might. Her head thrashed from side to side beneath him, hair tousled, tangled and damp, and sweat streamed in shining runnels across her skin. She had never looked as desirable as she did at that moment, all undone for him.

“Kad, I-”

“ _Come for me now_!”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, and it was enough to send him roaring, back arched, into his orgasm, and both his cocks jetted in unison, drenching her insides and filling her to bursting. Kadarn had held back the night before, and he had kept y/n from her peak too many times to count tonight. They were both in such desperate need as they ascended that even when though his cocks had erupted in copious, explosive sprays, every time she clenched against his throbbing lengths, she coaxed yet more seed from his loaded balls. When at last the climax petered out, greedy for more, Kadarn just remained rooted inside her until he was hard, then took her again. The evening drew in and he filled his mortal lover over and over while she moaned and bucked in wild pleasure beneath him, taking everything he gave her with ardent delight, while he wondered idly just how many orgasms he could ride her through before the night was out. It seemed likely he would find out, given her evident enthusiasm to continue. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” the words came out like a litany. Her speech degenerated from there until half-sentences and ideas flowed into one another, and Kadarn devoured them all, savouring each sentiment as he shared his pleasure with her. “Love … your cocks … no-one … no-one but you… never stop … fill me … yours…”

And every word just made him fuck her harder.

Outside the sky darkened and the night blanketed the mortal realm in thick darkness, where by now many people were finding their own pleasures with the multitude of demons y/n’s notes had enabled them to summon. Kadarn himself had a standing invitation and he could stay as long as he liked, which was fortunate, because there was so much yet unsaid and undone - but the night was young. When the two had exhausted themselves temporarily, and Kadarn had to admit that even he might have no more in him for an hour or so, he still refused to withdraw from his lover, stroking her cheeks and hair and tonguing her hot lips for long minutes at a time. Eventually, when y/n had regained enough control over herself to move and touch him, she stroked her fingers across his cheek.

“You decided to come back,” she observed with a smug smile. 

“ _You summoned me_ ,” he reminded her.

“But I left a clause in that contract that meant you had free choice, and could come and go as you pleased. I’m pleased you decided to _come_.”

Kadarn broke into a lewd smile at the innuendo in her last sentence and she thumped him on the arm, laughing at his irrepressible smuttiness. 

“What made you decide to take up the invitation?” she pressed.

Kadarn looked at her askance and raised a brow. Did she really need to ask that?

“Truth now, demon.”

Apparently she did. He felt the compulsion wrap around his mind at her command, and the words formed on his tongue with no conscious thought of his own, and no way to prevent their escape, but Kadarn was beyond caring. Let her coerce the admission from him, and let his truth be laid bare for all the world to see. He was not ashamed, and had nothing to hide. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion - in which he put more stock than the certainty that the sun would rise - that once he had said it aloud, she would respond in kind. Saying those three words aloud was one of the easiest things kadarn had ever done, in this world or any other, and they constituted the highest truth the demon had ever spoken.

“ _I love you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehmahgerd. I’m turning into such a sentimental sap. XD Hope you enjoyed something from his POV for a change. :)
> 
> I actually spent quite a bit of time talking to (straight) doms over the last couple of weeks (for research!), just getting an insight into the workings of their minds to help me write something from Kad’s POV. It was a bit of a revelation, and also an inspiration, but hopefully it all makes sense here. Some of the key themes that kept coming up no matter who I talked to were:
> 
> The woman ALWAYS climaxes first. No question.  
> They get REALLY turned on when their partner is turned on  
> They LOVE giving pleasure  
> They LOVE it when their partner begs them to make them cum
> 
> I also used some of the stuff I read about DP when I was researching that for chapter 9, which is what inspired the smut in this one. 
> 
> Again, hope you all enjoyed. 
> 
> P.s. Next time you eat a donut, I hope you think of smut demons :P


	17. Author's Weird Addendum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not part of the story, just a personal note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has nothing to do with the story, but I wanted to share what happened to me after I finished writing it. Please feel free to ignore my ramblings as they don’t have anything to do with Kadarn or the story itself. It’s also pretty personal, but I felt the need to share as as there are some rather odd little coincidences here. A couple of people said the story helped them through the worst year in history, and I guess in a way it did for me too.

I was in a committed but sexless relationship when I wrote this story. It wasn’t always that way, but in recent years, my needs weren’t being met, and as a rather smutty-minded being, as many of you have probably gathered, the lack of physical (and all other) intimacy in a relationship that used to be supportive and fulfilling was slowly driving me insane. I picked up smut-writing mid 2020 as an outlet for my considerable frustrations, sharing my wish-fulfilment fantasies with anyone who chanced to come across them.

When I finished writing the main body of this fic (before the bonus chapter), I added myself to a specialist dating site, solely with the intent of talking to people, sharing stories, and, yes, perhaps getting a little titillation along the way. Given the lengths I had gone to in order to attempt to entice my formerly horny partner to engage with me - and failed - I didn’t feel this was unreasonable. I got *way* more than I bargained for, in some very, very odd ways.

I started talking to some people, and we ran through scenarios, role playing for fun and excitement, and the first two people I spoke to described in exact detail two scenes from fics I’d written, both this one, and one of my orc fics. Out of the blue. They had no idea who I was, or what I’d written, but they were interacting with me like the characters from my stories. 

SPOOKY! XD

In amongst all the smut, these strangers were incredibly supportive, friendly and encouraging, and made me feel like there might still be some nice (and horny!) guys out there in the world, and maybe still a chance for happiness. It also went a long way towards restoring a huge chunk of self-confidence I’d lost.

As a result, I ended my relationship. It was the easiest conversation I had ever had with my ex-partner, and I know it was the right thing for me to do. Zero regrets. I’m currently waiting for the covid restrictions to be lifted so I can meet a guy I’ve been talking to for the last 5 weeks who looks like Thor, wants to bang me senseless, and thinks I’m the mutt’s nuts. XD 

I’m not a superstitious person. I don’t believe in magic or fate, and my feet are planted firmly on the ground, rooted in reality. But there’s still a little part of me that wonders whether all the smut-karma I poured out into the universe this year is slowly finding its way back to me. XD 

If there’s a message here, kids, it’s don’t hold back, and do what you dream. 

Keep on smutting. XXX


End file.
